


What is Worth Saving in this World?

by ziraseal



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: AU: Veya lives, Clockwork City spoilers, Cultists, Daedric Princes, F/F, Flashbacks, MAJOR FIX-IT FIC, Morrowind spoilers, Slow Burn, Summerset Spoilers, becoming a soul-shriven, didn't like the ending of summerset so this is very non-canon, events not in chronological order, non-canon dialogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziraseal/pseuds/ziraseal
Summary: The dark cloak wrapped around her mind was beginning to burn away. Gods, how long had she been a puppet attached to Nocturnal’s strings? What actions had been her own? It felt like the first time she could question the atrocities she had committed.She had to find Ziikra. She needed to get off this island now.





	1. How to Heal a Bleeding Heart

_“Children. They can be just as frustrating as they are loving.”_

 

 

The last thing she remembered was that damn crossbow being aimed at her and fired, just after she’d managed to kill that damn bear. And then she had died.

 

That being said, Veya had never felt so comfortable in her life. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but there wasn’t much cause for alarm. In fact, she was rather content to lay in the grass with her eyes closed and not think about the world or its troubles.

 

What was going on? Was this the afterlife?

 

She didn’t need to open her eyes to realize that her legs, and one of her hands, were bound. Was she being punished for having failed Nocturnal? Was her torture just to remain chained down while her Prince cooked up another scheme to take over the world?

 

“Veya? Can you hear me? You’re safe here. No one is going to find you or hurt you. I promise.”

 

That was a voice she recognized. Veya suddenly wished that she truly was in the afterlife, for it would be better to end up lost in some plane of Oblivion as punishment for her crimes than to open her eyes and look up at the person whom she had disappointed the most.

 

Her eyes fluttered open of their own curiosity, matching with an equally curious pair. It broke Veya’s heart to see Ziikra’s hopeful face stained with tears. Tears her actions had brought into existance.

 

 

  


_She didn’t remember much, merely being tossed into a world where nothing made sense. As evidenced by the fact that, within the span of five seconds, a Firemouth slaver’s sword raised in the air was about to come crashing down on her head when she heard a mighty roar and watched her enemy’s body go flying down the path._

 

_Later Ziikra would learn that she had used magic to summon a bear. She didn’t really understand how that worked― though she loved animals and studied the environments of Tamriel with interest she’d never so much as brewed a potion or crafted a glyph. Where did this newfound magic come from?_

 

_Ziikra heard that strange assassin Naryu calling her name to join her at the docks. The bear patiently sniffed at her pant leg as she caught her breath before standing up._

 

_Later, while rummaging through a tomb for a nervous Dunmer priest, she decided to name the bear At-Ius, after the God of Animals (who had very clearly blessed her). Perhaps the mysterious land of the Dark Elves would not feel so scary with such a powerful beast at her side._

 

 

  


“Why am I tied up like this? Am I a prisoner here?” Veya asked.

 

But where was _here_?

 

“Veya, please listen carefully to me. We’re not on Tamriel right now. I took you to the safest place I could think of, and no one here will hurt you. I made them promise not to. This is Artaeum, home of the Psijic Order,” Ziikra said soothingly.

 

The former member of the Morag Tong glanced around, “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“I summoned vines to bind you in case you woke up and started attacking people. But if you promise now not to hurt anyone, I will make the vines go away.”

 

Veya could hear the pain in Ziikra’s voice, yet it sounded as though the Warden had spent a long time rehearsing what she was going to say when she woke up. Ziikra’s hands gently glowed a turquoise light and the vines loosened just enough for Veya to sit up, and she leaned against the nearest tree to get a better look at her surroundings.

 

“I thought I died. I thought you killed me.”

 

Ziikra let out a huff, one that almost sounded like half of a chuckle. She gently lifted Veya’s right hand to reveal that most of her torso was covered in bandages. And her legs. And her arms. Which Veya really found rather strange, considering she didn’t feel much pain at all.

 

“I’ve killed you about three times now? I can’t keep track these days. I hurt you worse up in the Crystal Tower than when we fought in Balmora. I was a little more desperate then.”

 

Ziikra fell silent as Veya began to notice something, running her fingers behind her ear. There were feathers, not merely tied into her hair with string but sprouting from Veya’s skin. Not too many feathers, most just small patches here and there. Behind her ear, under her jaw, along her forearm. What’s more the feathers were jet black, as though she’d been merged with a crow.

 

A parting gift from the Daedric Prince who had abandoned her.

 

 

  
  


_After the most of the chaos subsided, a concept Ziikra knew she would never truly experience in full, she took a gentle walk down to the docks of the city. At-Ius lumbered beside her, causing merchants and workers to nervously tip-toe around her― though they would not be so foolish as to deny her the right to walk through their streets after saving their Living God. Dozens, if not a hundred adventurers were running around helping the citizens with errands and sharpening their weapons for the next cave they heard about, ready to take on anything. Ziikra, however, thought about taking her heavy Warden’s coat off and dipping into the waters near Seyda Neen (hopefully a cleaner location to go splashing than near the cantons). There were plenty of small boats one could spend a few coins to borrow for the day that she might use to travel to the smaller town, and it was down near these boats that she found a pair of assassin’s arguing._

 

_Truth be told, she was quite shocked to see Veya up and walking, circling around a stoic-looking Naryu as she tried to poke a hole in the older woman’s arguments. Ziikra could see that Veya’s struggle to remain on Vvardenfell was in vain, and she could see the younger assassin’s face falling in defeat._

 

_She met up with the two of them, chatting for a little bit. An air of finality surrounded their conversation, and Ziikra hated it. Veya would be sent as far away from House Redoran and the Morag Tong as possible, and the Redguard woman had a funny feeling that Summerset just wasn’t the kind of place for the assassin._

 

_As though things weren’t troublesome enough Canon Valasa suddenly rushed down the docks with a note from Archcannon Levule in her hands. Ziikra read it and rubbed her brow in frustration. Never a moment’s rest._

 

_“Veya, I don’t mean to leave you but I… I need to, you know…”_

 

_The other woman brushed some white hair out of eyes and let out a frustrated huff, “I get it, alright? You get to go out and save the world, and I ruined my life, and get to spend the rest of my days as a clerk in some City Hall in the land of the pompous Altmer.”_

 

_Though Naryu had been pretending to admire some fishing gear, she turned and let out a rather condescending noise from her throat. And a tongue click. From behind Veya, Ziikra made a motion for the mentor to keep quiet, an abrupt notion mind you, but the mentor sauntered forward regardless._

 

_“You do understand how karma works, don’t you, Veya? Because I’m pretty sure I taught you how the repercussions of murders typically play out,” Naryu sighed._

 

_“Naryu, you aren’t helping.”_

 

_“It’s alright. She’s correct. I went crazy. I messed up big time. I pay for it. I murdered my father for murdering my brother, not only breaking rules but sinking to the very level I was desperate to loathe,” Veya said._

 

_For a moment, a silent tension hung in the air, reflecting Baar Dau’s presence in the sky. Ziikra could see tension in the eyes of the two Dunmer, and took a small step back to breathe. She noticed Veya’s hands flinch towards her stomach, as though she wanted to fidget with the wound the Redguard woman had given her in battle. She still shuddered at the thought of Veya’s fury during that fight. If it hadn’t been for her meager handheld crossbow firing an impressive shot in the young lass’ gut, she wouldn’t be standing here. And the entire Redoran council would be murdered._

_That didn’t make her proud of having shot Veya._

 

_“Are you okay? I am sorry about that.”_

 

_Veya glanced down at the small tear in her tunic, just below her chitin armor, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry. You just… you got me good with that crossbow of yours. Shame the Tong doesn’t carry anything like that.”_

 

_Even Naryu had a glance at the weapon. Perhaps it was more formidable than Ziikra gave it credit._

 

_“Well, you can get one for yourself if you join the Fighter’s Guild. Devote yourself to fighting Daedra nonstop.”_

 

_Tu’whacca knew that girl needed a new hobby beyond killing (relatively) innocent people._

 

_“Get on out of here,” Veya smiled. “You have plenty of quests and stories awaiting you. I hope to someday see you again, but you know how Tamriel is. Adventurers never seem to visit the same tiny towns twice.”_

 

_Archcannon Levule’s paper was about to slip through her fingers, but at the reminder Ziikra held it up and winked at the two of them― causing Naryu to roll her eyes. At-Ius pressed his nose into Veya’s palm, a moment of affection that brought a smile to Ziikra. But the Redguard was one for hugging, but she knew both women preferred to keep their distance, especially from someone they’d met only a few weeks ago. So instead she opted for a bow of respect, before brushing past them and heading back to Vivec’s palace. She didn’t think on whether she’d see Veya again, already thinking of how to conquer the problems of the city of metal that Levule warned her about._

 

_Looking back on it, honestly, she really wished Veya had drowned in a shipwreck. It could have been peaceful. Serene, even. Anything was preferable; that she wouldn’t need to do what would come after the Clockwork City._

 

 

 

 

“Sending you away only made you angrier.”

 

Veya didn’t respond to the remark, instead choosing to stare at the strange light source that substituted for a sun on Artaeum. The “stars” that dotted the daytime sky. Trees with blue flower petals and beautifully serene ruins dotting the landscape. The field of grass with a storm atronach gently providing water as he lumbered around. Folks here and there along the length of the beaches just sitting around laughing and fishing. The peace of the land made Veya never want to leave. It was the polar opposite of Vvardenfell’s chaos.

 

She stared down at the bracelet on her wrist. It was small, made of brass― whirring and clicking into place as it spun around. A Psijic mage had come by earlier to give it to Veya, not explaining what it did but merely sliding it past her hand and securing it into place; then bowing and disappearing to Gods knew where. Veya assumed that it would bind her to Artaeum and keep her from escaping, but Ziikra had assured her that was not the case. Of course, her current study of it was interrupted.

 

“I’m sorry. I should have talked with Nary―”

 

“Don’t say her name,” Veya snapped.

 

She felt bad, after having put Ziikra through so much torment, to be meaner still. But she couldn’t think about her former mentor, who would be so disappointed in her actions here that… that Veya couldn’t bear to think about her. She desperately prayed in shame that she’d never see Naryu again.

 

Then again, an anger still bubbled within Veya at the thought that Naryu had tried to kill her. That Naryu had ordered Ziikra to kill her.

 

Ziikra rested a hand on a feather-covered arm, “I found pages of your journal… they were scattered around Summerset but I put them in a parcel for you, so that no one else would find them. But… Veya... “

 

“Those thoughts were meant to be private.”

 

She absentmindedly struggled against the vines as she spat the words out. How could Ziikra have found those notes?

  


 

 

_Seht’s domain was no place for a Warden. There was more brass and rock here than she had ever seen in her life, and Ziikra struggled to conjure up a single flower as she fought fabricant after fabricant. She was almost tempted to go back to Tamriel and bring back with her a bundle of seeds to spread (the Apostles would no doubt consider any living fauna among their precious metal world to be a weed, yet the temptation remained). Despite the resemblance of nature that Sotha Sil had attempted, with his manufactured trees, the world around her was barren and lifeless. She was truly grateful for the stoic beast traveling with her, if not for the bear she might be the only living entity outside the gates of the Brass Fortress._

 

_At first, the only exception was the Everwound Wellspring. Where the existence of natural plants and food source for the Brass Fortress turned out to harbor a horrid secret. She tried not to think of that as she watched Apostles and other citizens eat the nutrient paste instead of the fresh fruit and vegetables from the horrid place; food that she and the surviving assistants had banned because of its dark secret. What kind of Warden was she to prevent starving people from eating on account of morality?_

 

_Then there was a hidden place in the Clockwork City where Ziikra found an abundance of sweet, forgotten forest. Her weakness among the brass. When she stepped through the strange shadowy portal, she let out a sigh of relief and sat in the weeds and grass for a few minutes, running her hands through the dirt and even summoning a few flowers. Of course that turned out to be a realm of Nocturnal― the plants may have looked normal but the fauna certainly did not. The Apostles would be determined to close the portal when they could. As she made to leave the tiny pocket of the Evergloam, Ziikra harvested seeds from various weeds and flowers, placing them in one of her many satchels. She would find a small patch of dirt in somewhere in the Radius and sneak some real plants in._

 

_It certainly left a strange taste in Ziikra’s mouth. She’d never thought of Nocturnal as the sort of Daedric Prince who would plot and scheme._

 

_Still, there was an aspect of beauty to the city that Ziikra could appreciate. Though she was running left and right solving everyone’s problems, the structures were less brutish and clunky than the Dwarven ruins she’d explored. Everything clicked and slid together silently, save for the Apostle’s philosophy. Their stoic sermons in the streets asking for unbending loyalty from the citizens almost reminded Ziikra of Barilzar’s ramblings instructing himself about “The Great Gear” and such. But to sit on the bronze steps and stare up at the ever turning sky was something else, indeed a sight that she would never experience on Tamriel. And to think that she was miniscule! She wondered what would happen if someone in Mournhold ever took a hammer to the dwarven ruins that hid this city._

 

_It ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Ziikra was starting to suspect she had a knack for foiling daedric plots― a knack that would get her in trouble. And considering Nocturnal’s threat of a possible “Triad” of Daedric Princes… the Redguard suspected she would find herself contending with another villain._

 

_Sotha Sil. She felt a little awestruck, but not in an unreasonable manner. Where Vivec had caused a slight amount of fear in her, simultaneously frustrating her with his arrogance, Seht was calm and polite. Taking her out of the city to thank (with actual sincerity) her instead of putting on a show downtown for the crowds as his divine brother had. When she had asked, Sotha Sil shrugged and admitted did not consider himself a god. It caused a great curiosity within Ziikra. She wished she had more time to talk to him… his very nature made her want to ask about the entire world and all it’s mysteries― not just those of the Clockwork City._

 

_She had a feeling he had an answer for every question there ever was. She should have thought to ask the one nagging in the back of her head._

 

 

“Listen. I know you’re angry. You might as well spit it out.”

 

From her little picnic spot underneath a beautiful blue tree, Ziikra glanced over at the Dunmer, who had been freed only moments before from the vines and was now pacing at the edge of the cliff. Veya wondered if the Warden thought she might jump.

 

“You are not ready for my anger,” Ziikra said. “Not yet.”

 

Veya let out a scoff and sneered at the Redguard as she patiently sat down in the spot where Veya had woken up. A cool breeze flowed over the cliff and rustled both her hair and the newfound feathers. Veya thought about trying to literally pluck one off, but had a funny feeling another would grow in its place. She supposed it wasn’t the worse, she could be stuck as whatever shadow monster Nocturnal had turned her into to fight Ziikra at the top of the Crystal Tower. To never be an Elf again… to be that six-armed, horned and grotesque _shade_ made out of pure darkness? Resurrected over and over again as Ziikra used Dawnbreaker to burn her. Distorted and cruel― or perhaps Nocturnal revealed Veya’s true nature all along. Three damn her, was she even alive anymore, or was this some subtle necromancy to keep her walking and talking long enough for some need of Ziikra? She shook her head and returned to the conversation.

 

“How is it that _I’m_ not ready for _your_ anger?”

 

Ziikra propped herself up on an elbow and took a sip of wine, but otherwise remained silent.

 

“You can’t do this, you know. You can’t keep saving my life time after time and then treat me like a child. I’m sure you know plenty of other people who get into situations like this and you don’t treat them horribly at all.”

 

Ziikra took another sip, and sighed, “When you are ready to begin redeeming yourself, then you will be ready for my anger. Else, there is little point in me exerting my energy.”

 

“And what if I don’t plan on redeeming myself?”

 

The Warden’s face seemed to give off an aura of warning, as though Veya was beginning to poke and prod a sleeping beast.

 

“If you wish to live out the rest of your life satisfied with the crimes you’ve committed and the people you’ve hurt, I cannot stop you from doing so. But if you plan on continuing to harm this world through seeking Daedric power, I’m afraid I shall take back this kindness I’ve bestowed upon you. Twice. There is another option. You come with me and work on righting your wrongs.”

 

The former Earl rolled her eyes, “What wrongs would those be?”

 

“You killed innocent people, Veya. You decided both that there were people not fit to walk this world _and_ that this world was not fit for you to walk it. You decided that you were worthy of destroying it.”  

 

Veya was surprised at Ziikra’s calm demeanor. Then again, perhaps there was merit to the promise that Veya would not experience her anger until she was ready. But a part of her still yearned to argue―

 

“This world is filthy and corrupted. Even here you can see it. These Psijics who have invented a way of living that sustains them and keeps them alive for hundreds of years? Thousands in some cases? And they decide not to share that… that privilege with others. They decided that they get to step in and save the world when they must, and that they are the only ones qualified to do so. I was going to make a world free from that,” the Dunmer trembled.

 

Ziikra didn’t have a response. It made Veya angrier, as though she were being ignored. As though if she said her plan aloud she would realize how it sounded, well that trick wasn’t going to work on her.

 

Many minutes passed. Veya couldn’t tell if Ziikra was thinking of a response or merely letting the peace of Artaeum exist between them.

 

Finally, she said, “When have Daedric Princes ever had the interests of mortals at heart. When have they ever succeeded with a plan and in turn given everything promised to the little mortal insects that aided them?”

 

“Never,” Veya sneered, “because heroes like you always come along and ruin everything.”

 

Ziikra shook her head, “I don’t care about being called a hero. I just want to help the world continue being a place safe enough for ordinary folk to live their lives.”

 

“Oh you’re so righteous. My mother would have called you ‘a lost soul limited by morality’.”

 

Veya struggled to spit the words out. Nocturnal had retreated back into the Evergloam and here she was defending her and calling her mother, still.

 

“That immortal hag didn’t care for you,” Ziikra frowned. “You had a mother in Balmore who loved you more than anything. Who didn’t care for the scandal revolving around your father and brother. She just wanted you home safe. Some shadow whispering in the night, corrupting you―”

 

“I like to think I was already corrupted by the likes of Naryu and House Redoran, and leaving those bastards was the first time I felt my eyes were truly opened.”

 

That sentence was the one that prompted Ziikra to calmly stand and brush the dirt off her pants.

 

“Tu’whacca, guide your steps, Veya Releth,” the Redguard chuckled. “For I cannot.”

 

She began to walk down the path towards Ceporah Tower, without so much as an invitation for the Dunmer woman to join her.

 

“Where are you going?” she called.

 

“I doubt I’ll make any progress talking to you. Perhaps there’s someone else here who can change your heart. I’m headed to answer a request from some “benefactor” in Auridon. I should be back shortly. You’re free to wander the Island but I would advise you not to cause trouble,” Ziikra responded.

 

The Hero smiled and gave Veya a relaxed salute before turning and walking towards a cluster of mages.

 

Veya wasn’t used to freedom. First she’d been bossed around by her family and House Redorand. Then Naryu and the Morag Tong. And then Razum-dar, albeit for a very brief amount of time. And perhaps Nocturnal was the strictest, coaxing her to do this and that as part of “the plan” while promising freedom to “Earl Tundilwen” after the schemes were executed. She’d never really had the free will to choose her next actions, and Ziikra was simply bequeathing it to her. Veya assumed there was a way off the island, but something held her back from seeking a way to leave.

 

Instead, she chose to wander down to one of the beaches, hoping that it wouldn’t take too long for her blood to cool down. She… she truly owed Ziikra an apology, if nothing else.

  


  
  


_It was beautiful. Goodness, Summerset was something else. Like the candy store in the Imperial City had been turned into an entire country. There were a few natural dangers, yes, but Ziikra didn’t hold it against the wild salamanders and welwa to defend themselves. To say nothing of the beautiful Indrik. What she would give to be able to sit down with a sketchbook near one of those fascinating beasts. It… it… it reminded her a little of home. Of the fascinating wildlife of Hew’s Bane that prompted her to hone her passion for zoology and see the world. To discover the wondrous plants of Tamriel― and Summerset was certainly a more appropriate place to study than Vvardenfell! Ziikra felt adoration crawling into her heart at the mere sights as she studied the lush fields of flowers outside Shimmerene. Even At-Ius seemed curious at the world around him, though the bear was quickly eager to splash in the crystal clear rivers that ran through the Isle._

 

_Coincidence was too foolish a word to use for the timing of the Yaghra attacks cropping up just as she set foot on the isle. Ziikra knew she would see no rest upon these sunny shores while the threat of Nocturnal and Clavicus Vile loomed in the air. To say nothing of the third opponent._

 

_The strange Psijic woman had asked to meet in the “Coral Forest”, whatever that could mean. Ziikra decided to head down to the docks and check in with merchants for supplies― having learned that when she suspected she was about to enter a fight she ought fix up her precious Warden’s armor._

 

_She found a torn page on a boat near the workshop of the Shimmerine Dockworks. Normally, it was not Ziikra’s place to pry― she understood the mechanics of thieves guild dead drops and the little hints and such that assassin’s left each other. All in all, schemes weren’t her business unless someone specifically asked her to help out (either to further a devious plot or to foil it, depending on who asked her first). But given what was going on with the Aldarch, she decided to see if anyone was planning any more mischief against innocent immigrants. The note seemed to be from an outsider, just like her, talking about leaving their country to come to Summerset._

 

_Then she saw a familiar name in the writing. The name Naryu._

 

_Of course, how could she have forgotten?! Veya was somewhere on this Isle, supposedly apprenticing with an Eye of the Queen! Ziikra wondered if that Raz fellow could help her find the young dunmer, and made a note to ask him when she next saw him. She tucked the note into her pocket and straightened her armor, content to solve the mystery of Shimmerene’s Aldarch as soon as she could so that she could find Veya._

 

_Artaeum didn’t seem real. After Ziikra had defeated the Earl of Clavicus Vile, she’d been invited to the mystical island of the Psijic Order. Honestly, they just seemed like a more organic version of the Clockwork Apostles, or perhaps merely a less racist version of House Telvanni. Perhaps every country had their own order of mysterious wizards, and Ziikra was doomed to meet them all as she continued this tiresome course of hers._

 

_Strange… she aided the Psijics in a ritual to reveal the true culprits of the Shimmerene plot using the abyssal pearl… and she could have sworn somethings sounded familiar about the Earl of Nocturnal. Ziikra decided not to dwell on it, the Psijics needed her for plenty of tasks, and it did no one any favors to stand and ponder. She glanced at the pearl, a defined source of troubles to come, afore traveling down to Artaeum’s surface._

 

 

 

Veya knew who it was before he even approached her. How could she not? As a member of House Redoran, she’d spent her whole life worshipping the Tribunal, albeit most civilians secretly focused more towards praising Vivec and Almalexia than him. She would be a fool not to recognize the divine aura, but Veya would not bow before him. She may have been saved by a hero with a bleeding heart but she still believed that the worship and systems that her people had established were corrupted and wrong.

 

“Perhaps I ought explain, though I’ve been told I leave people with more questions than they originally possessed,” Sotha Sil gently said. His voice seemed to almost echo inside Veya’s head when he spoke.

 

“In the past, your friend saved both my existence and the work I have dedicated thousands of years to, and I decided that I would wait to fully show my gratitude. She could have asked for power, and although she decided to use my abilities to save a dear friend of mine, Ziikra chose to leave the Clockwork City and head to Summerset empty handed. So I awaited a more opportune time to reward her for her service to Tamriel. After she restored the Heart of Transparent Law, I asked her once again what reward would satisfy her… I found myself taken aback at how quickly she decided what she wanted.

 

“Atop the Crystal Tower, it is my theory that once Ziikra and Darien had killed you, Nocturnal used Daedric magic to turn you into a _soul-shriven_. Typically, credit for this process is claimed by Molag Bal, but I calculate such power is well within the possession of all Daedric Princes. Without your soul, your body can experience the process of death infinitely, yet you will be tethered to Nirn, using soul gems to resurrect. A process Ziikra will soon experience.”

 

Veya’s head snapped up, “What? Why would she undergo that willingly?”

 

Sotha Sil shook his head, “She won’t. It is a prediction of mine, based on the pattern of her decisions, that she’s going to be caught up in the schemes of the Worm Cult on her way to the mainland. I know you have your reasons to dislike and distrust me, but I find myself rather fond of Ziikra, and would hope that you might find enough similar fondness to go after her. And I’ve heard of your detest for people older than you ordering you around, so consider this a pointed suggestion rather than a command of your next actions.”

 

“Excuse me, your _holiness_ , I am―”

 

“You are angry at Ziikra at-Abah,” Sotha Sil nodded, holding his hand up to interrupt her, “Because she represents the kind of person who you wish to be. Loved by all she helps. The admiration that many hold for her is more justly earned than the admiration our people hold for the Tribunal. And yet you ask yourself why _she_ holds enough admiration― respect, even― to save your life on numerous occasions.”

 

Veya realized that her face was set in a scowl, and tried her best to lessen it. Really, none of her troubles were Sotha Sil’s fault, and he didn’t come across as condescending as she had been expecting.

 

“What was your gift to her? As a ‘reward for her service’?” she asked, carefully choosing her words.

 

The Clockwork God held out his arm to reveal an attachment similar to the bracelet that adorned Veya’s wrist. She didn’t even consider that the trinket was mechanical in origin, rather than magical, but she’d never really held a knack for being an artificer to begin with. Sotha Sil pressed a small button on his adornment and it instantly began glowing a faint golden light. Veya, cautiously, did the same.

 

It was as though her physical mind _and her thoughts themselves_ were both burning and undergoing a restoration spell. She glanced up at the tinkerer who shrugged.

 

“Merely a device that aids in warding against magical cognitive influence― Daedric in particular. Ziikra asked for a way to heal you, and this was my answer. Reversing the effects of being soul-shriven is something the two of you must do together, but freeing one’s mind from Nocturnal’s corruption was a study I’d undergone after the attack on my city. It was effortless to create a second device. _Don’t_ let our hero’s reward go to waste.”

 

Veya sensed the words to be a threat more than a request, and with a nod of his head, Sotha Sil disintegrated into thin air. For the first time, the light bounding across Artaeum felt warm and welcoming instead of an energy Veya felt she needed to run away from. The dark cloak wrapped around her mind was beginning to burn away. Gods, how long had she been a puppet attached to Nocturnal’s strings? What actions had been her own? It felt like the first time she could question the atrocities she had committed.

 

She had to find Ziikra. She needed to get off this island _now_.

  


 

 

_Ziikra prayed that she would never be too proud to admit the fear she felt in the mindscape. A land such as that was undoubtedly unnatural. After slaying the monstrosity that was K’Tora, she felt herself pulled out of the realm by a familiar force, with Sotha Sil explaining their next steps, and his worry at the looming Triad before she could even catch her breath._

 

_The worry sent a shiver down her spine, and as a response Sotha Sil put a hand on her shoulder before sending her off to check on the Ritemaster. His hand was so stiff that she wondered if that was the first time he’d tried to emit empathy since becoming a god, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Between Tribunal members and mechanical Clockwork Apostles and Daedra and ancient Sea Sloads, and even the Psijics (having met a mere apprentice who’d been studying on Artaeum for a few centuries), Ziikra was beginning to realize how young she truly was. How mortal._

 

_Then came the college of Sapiarchs and the daedric attack that the Earl of Mephala orchestrated. She did not trust Leythan, and she detested the sob story he used as an excuse for his evil. Tu’whacca, why did every cultist have some depressing motive as reason enough to attempt to destroy the world?! Still, she had work to do to access the Crystal Tower and save it from Daedric corruption. She didn’t have time to care about a bastard who was willing to murder innocents to get his way._

 

_The Golden Knight’s continued presence bothered her, as well. As she had with Azura’s meddling on Vvardenfell, she felt worry that more Daedric Princes were involving themselves with this nefarious plot, no matter how good they claimed to be._

 

_Now it was just getting out of hand. She’d already been to enough realms but The Spiral Skein? Ew. Giant scorpions and spiders were not on her list of animals she loved. Oh great, and giant beetles and giant wasps… this was a rather pestilent realm. At least she successfully rescued Darien Gautier. Whoever that was._

 

_Ziikra didn’t really have that much charm, but she used what she did have to coax Leythan into helping her translate the languages hidden in Ebon Stadmont. She should have caught the word Ebon sooner to determine just which prince was manipulating the forest. She supposed Gloam Wolves weren’t as terrifying as Skein Spiders but it would have been lovely going her whole life without dealing with either._

 

_“I never expected to see you again, but you shouldn’t have come here. These words of power, they aren’t meant for mortal eyes.”_

 

_Ziikra was still reeling from the shock of seeing a projection of Veya Releth dressed up as an Earl of Bedlam to register what the young dunmer was saying to her. Veya continued on about the balance of power among the Daedric triad, but Ziikra was left shaking her head._

 

_“Veya… why? Why are you doing this?”_

 

_“I wasn’t sure how I’d feel feel if I saw you or Naryu again. Balmora seems like a lifetime ago, and I’m a new person since committing myself to Nocturnal’s service. I wish you weren’t involved in this matter.”_

 

_She certainly didn’t sound like the old, rash Veya. She didn’t sound as happy and carefree._

 

_“This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. We just wanted you to be safe from assassins and House officials who would kill you if they found you,” Ziikra sighed._

 

_Veya let out a snarl, and the projection faltered for a second, “Don’t patronize me! Nocturnal gives me the freedom to be who I really am! Not even you could help me from feeling abandoned and lost after what happened in Balmora, hero.”_

 

_The use of Naryu’s nickname stung Ziikra. She waved a hand through the projection and it disappeared. She’d never felt so hurt― all those months ago her only thought in the Redoran retreat had been to heal and save Veya, and now her decision had come back to bite her in the ass._

 

_‘Oh Veya… what have you gotten yourself into?’ Ziikra sadly thought to herself. ‘What have I gotten myself into?’_

 

 

  


Honestly, despite a sneer or two from apprentices, the Psijics were accommodating of Veya’s request to find Ziikra in response to Sotha Sil’s warning. Underneath Cepora Tower, Valsirenn carefully raised her hands and waved them over Veya, swirling light surrounding the both of them. She began to feel as though an invisible pair of shackles binding her to the island were dissipating, leaving her feeling lighter than air.

 

“I’m going off of the logic that you won’t use this opportunity to continue the work our order desperately sought to prevent,” the high elf muttered.

 

Another quiet threat aimed towards Veya. She was beginning to sense that people didn’t like her, but there was also the fact that she was partially responsible for killing Earl Leythan, Valsirenn’s husband.

 

“I’m sorry. What I did was immeasurably wrong, and I have no excuses. I’m not so foolish to ask for your forgiveness but to ask for the confidence that I will never repeat it.”

 

Veya was not used to apologies, and it reflected in her honeyed words.

 

Valsirenn studied her for a moment before pulling out an item. A compact mirror. She pressed it into Veya’s palms and patted the woman’s shoulder.

 

“I ought not be so harsh. Many in Tamriel make the worst mistakes with the best of intentions. Or, at least, understandable intentions. Ziikra had told me your story. I do hope you find a way to redeem your path and actions. I truly do. This mirror will allow you to call me should you need advice. Leythan and I used to use them when we were on missions for the Order and thousands of miles apart. We stopped using them when our daughter grew ill and… if you need someone to talk to, you have a way to contact me.”

 

Veya glanced down at the little accessory, struggling for the right words. The people on this island could obliterate her if they wanted, possessing of the power they did, and instead they were all choosing to bequeath gifts. Veya sensed it was because she would, indeed, never return.

 

The Psijic Mage opened a portal, having explained that she attuned it to whatever location Ziikra was currently at, and Veya smiled at her before stepping through. She’d never used a portal before… maybe this could be a fun milestone.

 

Veya was dropped straight into a dark, damp prison cell in Coldharbour, and the portal snapped shut.

 

 

_“No! The Crystal Tower… was supposed to be MINE!”_

 

_If she could, Ziikra would have thrown Dawnbreaker into the face of the Daedric Prince floating in the sky, but she settled for using the sword to reforge the Transparent Law. The sky went from a terrifying purple to a serene blue, and she found herself letting out a breath she’d been holding in since first waking up in Vvardenfell. After everything. Ichaesis. Leythan. Darien Gautier. And now Veya… the Redugard wished she herself was a Prince, if for naught else to spend an eternity tormenting Nocturnal for her actions._

 

_The others who had sacrificed themselves weren’t as meaningful as Veya had been. Not even close. When Valsirenn opened a portal at the top of the tower, she walked in on Ziikra collapsing over a body and sobbing, quickly running up to find the Warden clutching some sort of grotesque Daedric shade, thankfully deceased._

 

_“What… who… I don’t understand,” Valsirenn frowned. “Who is this?”_

 

_“I didn’t want to kill her. She made me fight her… and then Nocturnal did this to her…”_

 

_Valsirenn kneeled down and put a hand on the crying girl’s back. Small flowers and mushrooms were beginning to sprout in the cracks between stones, and the Psijic Mage knew that the untamed, emotional powers of a Warden might cause more harm than good in a moment when the Crystal Tower was still fragile. Vines wrapped around Ziikra and the shadows melted away as the Daedric shade she clutched began to slowly morph back into a young Dunmer woman wearing the robes of the Court of Bedlam._

 

_Something began glowing in Valsirenn’s satchel, and she pulled out a soul gem― Psijics used a few in their work for charging their staves and such but even Ziikra recognized that they were a tool for more basic mages. Yet, it was vibrating harshly, and Ziikra suddenly got the hint that it was gravitating towards the Dunmer girl’s chest. She took the soul gem and pushed it into the spot where Veya’s heart would be. And a faint gasp emitted from the lips of a formerly deceased woman._

 

_Ziikra truly couldn't believe it. Somehow, after everything they’d been through, Veya Releth was still alive._

  
  



	2. "You two are a real find."

_Protect the ones you love. Hold them close. Cherish their every moment. Make them laugh, and laugh with them. Smile together and never, ever, forget that the moments you have are so very precious._

  


  
  


She enjoyed Auridon, for the brief moment that she’d been there. A quick meal. A drink. Two drinks. Ziikra had kindly pardoned herself from an enchanting discussion with a sailor and left the inn with a spring in her step. It was a miracle that the Psijic’s were willing to spare some time to create a portal to the city for her, and she truly was grateful that she got to see the city without the seasickness that would have been the result of a journey from Shimmerine. It looked and seemed very different from Summerset― namely the buildings of Auridon were not as detailed and intricate, likely needing to be rebuilt as the island was raided generation after generation. The economy of Auridon almost seemed busier than that of Alinor, with the docks filled to the brim with cargo, and the traders bustling with merchants buying and selling goods. Were that she had a moment, she would peruse the stalls for some Alik’r merchandise― Firsthold was practically a stone’s throw from Stros M’kai, after all. And… Stros M’kai was only a stone’s throw from Hew’s Bane...

 

It was easy to feel homesick, after having spent so many days in strange and wonderful lands such as these.

 

Ziikra gently walked down the creaky wooden steps of the ship, wondering why the sailors were all keeping quiet. The hooded figure had not said much about the benefactor other than that he would wish to discuss a matter that would affect the fate of the world. Honestly, Ziikra was tired. Too tired to deal with more dramatic schemes and plots. But she rubbed her brow and continued through the hold― perhaps it was her fatal flaw, but she hated refusing to help desperate people in need. It didn’t feel right, not when she had the power and means that she had. She would hear this man out.

 

Imagine Ziikra’s surprise when she found the “Benefactor” to be a bound and gagged man clearly trying to warn her of the danger lurking in the shadows.The blow to the head from the cultist knocked her out cold. She remembered opening her eyes briefly to find herself being dragged by chains towards a strange room… laid down on a slab of concrete where a very malicious looking man raised a knife over her chest.

 

Why did things like this keep happening to her? All she ever wanted to do was help people, and it always ended up with her in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

The room grew mysteriously cold. Dark. Haunting. She glanced the leader of the cultists dead in the eyes, remembering his face. Gods willing he would receive his karma. And when he dropped the piece of metal into her heart, she saw the jaws of a demon that would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

 

_T’uwhacca be with me._

  


  
  


Veya fell out of Valsirenn’s portal and tumbled for quite a bit before landing on terribly hard stone. The pain the landing caused was absolute agony― every injury she’d sustained since her first fight in Balmora seemed to reappear and caused her to want to scream. She let out a groan instead, closing her eyes and gripping the ground beneath her.

 

_Damn mages._

 

Another groan echoed from across the room. Veya recognized that one.

 

The former cultist got up slowly, gripping the wound from the crossbow bolt (that had never really recovered), and limped over to a body in the corner of the jail cell. Ziikra’s Warden outfit was torn here and there, and confusion spawned in Veya’s mind from the little bits of light that covered her arms. It would be a question for another time, but it seemed similar to the magic of the Psijics (who were awfully obsessed with the magic of Light).

 

“Ziikra, can you hear me? It’s Veya!”

 

A groan. That was something.

 

Veya noticed a splash of dried blood on the front of Ziikra’s jacket. She gently unbuckled the flap and pulled it away to find a large stab wound where her heart was. By the Three, how was she still alive?

 

“What happened? Ziikra, can you hear me?”

 

“Soul... “

 

Veya’s brow furrowed. Did she manage to warn her in time? Had Veya failed the only person in the world who seemed to care about her… yet again?

 

“Yes. Soul. What about the soul?” she desperately asked.

 

The Redguard’s eyes briefly fluttered open. They were white, void of any life, and Veya worried that somehow Ziikra had been blinded. But then she noticed parts of Ziikra’s skin were slowly turning a pale gray, in patches here and there. As though she were having the very life sucked from her skin.

 

“Soul… gem…”

 

Soul gem? What did soul gems have to do with this strange cell they were in? From what Veya could tell, they were in Coldharbour, and she only knew that because the Crystal Tower had access to every realm, and Nocturnal had begun attacking the other Princes. As a result, she’d gotten a glimpse of the dreaded plane of Oblivion that belonged to this particular Prince. Even so, it would not do them well to linger in Molag Bal’s grasp. Valsirenn had given her soul gems before she’d departed, and Sotha Sil had explained that the existence of a Soul-Shriven practically revolved around these strange items.

 

Veya took a gem from her pack and pressed it into the wound on Ziikra’s chest. As though she’d been hit with a shock spell, the Redguard gasped and nearly jumped with fright― prompting Veya to hold her arms still.

 

“Easy, easy. You’re ok,” she said.

 

Ziikra’s eyes were returning to their proper brown, wide and frightened. She relaxed slightly, recognizing Veya, and in return the Dunmer’s grip loosened. She watched as the wound quickly closed into a scar, becoming a single thin line against Ziikra’s dark skin (hardly noticeable among the few glowing strips here and there, like starlight imbued in her body). Veya gently buckled up the Warden’s coat, knowing she would find answers to the many questions she had yet to ask.

 

“Come on now, we have got to find a way out of here. Can you stand?”

 

“... cultists… and a High Elf…did a sacrifice…”

 

“Killed you, did they?” Veya asked, throwing one of Ziikra’s arms around her shoulder and pulling her up as best she could. The crossbow wound was really starting to get to her. “It’s about time someone gets the jump on you. Can’t let me holding the highest tally for too long, can you?”

 

“Where are we, Veya? Where… how did I get here?”

 

The Dunmer shook her head, “I arrived via Valsirenn’s portal magic. You… I can’t say for certain. What matters now is getting out, got that?”

 

“Whoa there! Are you alright?”

 

Veya and Ziikra both glanced up at the large figure casting a shadow upon their cell door. Then, with a hasty introduction, the stranger who called herself Lyris swung a battle axe the size of a child onto the lock. It shattered like wrapping paper. The woman, most likely a Nord, beckoned for them to join her as she freed the other cells in the block.

 

“Can you walk?” Veya softly asked Ziikra.

 

It seemed as though with every passing moment the Redguard’s strength was returning to her, but even so Veya had no wish to abandon her. After all they’d been through, to die in some forgotten hallway in Coldharbour was too lonely a death to face. They slowly moved forward one step at a time.

 

“I can. I just… what are you doing here?”

 

“There’s no time to talk. I had tried to find you and warn you about this whole ‘Soul-Shriven’ fiasco but I was too late. I’m sorry, Ziikra.”

 

“... not your fault.”

 

Veya didn’t know about that― considering the grief she’d caused the Redguard― but she opened the broken cell door and gently guided Ziikra out. She grimaced at the torture equipment and piles of skulls lining the room, wishing that they’d been captured by one of the Daedric Princes that wasn’t so… brutish. They limped up to Lyris examining a fallen Xivkyn.

 

“Dead,” Lyris murmured, “Must’ve been the runt of the litter. Keep your weapon ready and stay sharp. This place is full of surprises.”

 

The Dark Elf felt pitiful, fighting against the dremora as though she were a weakling. As though she weren’t a skillfully trained assassin and then the faithful servant of the Prince of Shadows. And she knew that Ziikra was trying her best to summon plants to heal and aid them in this horrid place, but her efforts were to no avail. The group of women would have to rely on old fashioned steel. At least they weren’t as weak as some of the other Soul-Shriven in the prisons. But the greatsword Veya had taken off of the Xivkyn was taking its toll, and she desperately wished she had something lighter.

 

Then the idea hit her.

 

“Ziikra, do you have your crossbow on you?”

 

The Redguard nodded and passed the tool to Veya, and she strapped it to her forearm. Naryu and Ashur had both given her tips on hunting (and murdering) with bows, but she knew this newfound contraption would take a little practice. Ziikra had plenty of bolts in the quiver on her hip, and Veya carefully removed that, too. Perfect.

 

“Alright. That will help me out. I just need to find a dagger or something. I can’t carry this greatsword and you at the same time. Unless…”

 

“We need to keep moving,” Lyris warned, helping steady Ziikra. “Molag Bal will notice the prison riots soon.”

 

Veya nodded, and looked down at her companion, “Can you summon that bear of yours?”

 

Ziikra silently held a hand out and gritted her teeth, turning Veya’s arm numb with the grip of her other hand. Blue magic swirled around a spot on the ground and the three women observed as the beast was born out of thin air.

 

Lyris’s eyes widened at the sight,“You two are a real find.”

 

At-Ius slowly lumbered forward towards his master. Veya stiffened, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t recognize her as a previous enemy of Ziikra’s and attack her. Instead he merely pressed his nose into the Warden and let out a whine. Well… that problem was solved. Ziikra looked ready to collapse and was certainly in poor condition to do battle, but with the bear they would stand a chance.

 

Then some sort of “Prophet” showed up. Or at least, a projection of him. Lyris seemed convinced that he would help rescue them from the Bleeding Forge, but Veya had some reservations. She couldn’t afford to trust too many strangers right now, and Lyris at the very least seemed like she’d crush the Dunmer’s head if she found out she used to be a be a cultist.

 

And of course, there was an evil warden that they needed to heroically slay to escape. There was always something. Veya really did thank a divine force that the weary team had both the bear and the crossbow, and of course a perfectly healthy Nord warrior, to fight the sadistic Dremora blocking their path. Lyris tended to a cut on her calf and At-Ius sniffed at the dead bodies of soul shriven lining the walls of the forge while Ziikra mustered the energy to stand on her own. Before Veya could speak, a voice entered her very head to warn her of the dangers.

 

“The God of Brutality knows of your escape. Hurry!”

 

 

  
  


Perhaps it was At-Ius’s presence and encouragement, but after a little bit of sneaking and asking strange Soul-Shriven knights the way around, Ziikra felt strong enough for a fight. She pulled a sword out of a dead body, with a grimace, and steeled herself for whatever would come next. She didn’t realize that “what would come next” meant sacrificing the woman who had saved _them_ for a man who could possibly save _the world_. Ziikra hated those sorts of deals. Why did this sort of thing always happen to her? As the Prophet and Lyris Titanborn swapped places in the strange floating prison, she closed her eyes and focused all of her energy on ignoring the screams.

 

The newly formed trio of Veya, Ziikra, and The Prophet continued on― with none of them uttering a word about the shivers of fear and pain emitting from the prisoner they’d left behind.

 

Molag Bal himself erupted from the ground and summoned one of the worst undead abominations Ziikra had ever seen. _The worst_ of course being the undead shadow of the woman standing next to her, courtesy of Nocturnal. The creature swiped a hand of bone towards Veya, who went flying backwards (the _thud_ of a body against a wall wasn’t at all comical like she’d grown up believing), and Ziikra desperately threw her sword into what she assumed was its rib cage to slow it down. Naught happened.

 

“Shit! Everyone take cover!”

 

The Prophet must’ve undergone some sort of military experience, for even in his blind state he held a perfectly defensive posture as he cast spell after spell towards the abomination. Once Veya had recovered, she aimed the Dawnguard crossbow right in the middle of its eyes and fired a perfect shot. Again, nothing happened.

 

Ziikra panicked. What if they died here, afore even learning more about this nefarious plot? Saving the world from being unmade at the hands of Nocturnal only to be easily crushed by the Lord of Brutality?  

 

The abomination raised a fist into the air, preparing to bring it down over her head. In that moment, time seemed to stop.

 

It really did take Ziikra a moment to realize that… time actually had stopped. Frozen. She could see a circle of light spanning the ground around her, trapping the Bone Colossus, the Prophet, and Veya. All of them were as still as statues.

 

Ziikra stood, confused.

 

“Can you hear me?” she asked Veya.

 

No response. No eye rolls, no sneers. Veya’s face was immobilized in the panic that spawns from battle. The Redguard really had stopped time. She remembered Valsirenn and Leythan casting this spell on their adventures in Summerset… could she have picked up the powers of the Psijic Order without realizing it? Shouldn’t a spell like this have taken years to master?

 

If she had one spell that she didn’t know about hidden up her sleeve, what else could she try? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Prophet’s staff moving ever so slowly, and Veya’s hair whipping around. The spell wouldn’t last forever. The Bone Colossus’s fist would eventually unfreeze.

 

 _Freeze_.

 

Wait a minute.

 

She remembered researching the magic of the Wardens after reaching Vivec City for the first time, dumbfounded by her newfound powers (namely the ability to practically summon the whole forest and a _bear_ at her fingertips). There had been mention of Wardens that could wield frost magic like no other wizards on Tamriel. She had dismissed the notion― being a young adult from Abah’s Landing, she’d never so much as caught a glimpse of cold weather, how could she be expected to summon it?

 

She had no choice. Ziikra raised her arms up and took a deep breath, thinking only of frost magic and letting the air in her lungs slowly become colder and colder. She felt exhilarated, amazed at the power building up inside her. Summoning creatures and plants was one thing, wielding destruction spells was something else! She couldn’t believe her culture’s superstition to magic― this felt amazing!

 

She thrust her hand at her enemy as though she were wielding a rapier and stabbing at a weak point in one’s armor. A large spike of ice twisted up through the ground and impaled the Bone Colossus in the torso. She watched the blue fire in its eyes dwindle as it slowly collapsed into a pile of lifeless bones.

 

“What… what happened?” Veya blinked, furrowing her brow and glancing around.

 

“We have no time! I will prepare a spell to lift us to the Dark Anchor’s portal above us!”

 

The Prophet slammed his staff on the ground, demanding that Akatosh assist them in finding their way home.

 

“Hurry, we must go now!”

 

Ziikra and Veya were one step too many behind the blind man, watching as he rose through space and time towards Nirn.

 

“Wait! Are we sure this is safe?!” Veya cried over the noise of the Daedric machines.

 

“Who knows? What choice do we have?”

 

Ziikra wasn’t willing to lose her friend again. She waved her hand and At-Ius vanished into a cloud of blue magic, destined to appear at her side some other day. Then, she took a length of chain from the floor nearby (Coldharbour was filthy with torture devices, it seemed, and shackles were hardly rare here), and wrapped one end around her bicep. Veya seemed to get the idea and bound her forearm to the other end.

 

“Are you going to tell me what that was back there? I know you can cast magic, but this was more advanced than some House of Revelries trick,” Veya asked.

 

Ziikra didn’t answer, merely casting a smirk in the direction of the Dunmer and jumping into the invisible force that had carried the Prophet to the portal above. Her body felt weightless, save for the chain tugging at her arm. Veya used it to pull them closer and she found herself clutching the former assassin with all their strength as they were catapulted back towards Nirn.

  


  
  


Veya kept her eyes shut. Her entire body was still, though the itchiness of the sand made her this close to writhing where she lay. But she’d grown up near alits. She knew that if she moved a muscle she would be attacked. And though alits were fairly easy to hunt if you got the drop on them, fighting them was a nightmare, honestly. They had a tendency to jump on you and knock the wind out of your lungs. She would avoid a fight if she could.

 

Her best bet would be to wait it out. The alit would eventually move on to the next bundle of flowers and she could get up.

 

Really, it wasn’t so bad. Veya took the moment to appreciate the sounds of the ocean and the heat of the sun on her waterlogged armor (okay, _that_ she really didn’t care for). A plank gently drifted against her foot, and she opened one eye enough to see the wreck of a ship in the distance.

 

The wreck of several ships, actually.

 

A grunt from the alit signified that it had found interesting food in a tree far enough away for Veya to slowly flip over onto her stomach. She thought about killing it, for a brief second. Part of her mind made the argument of self defense― the beast could easily turn and charge, and she  could prevent that contingency now if she took the first shot. But some part, deep down, just wanted to strike. Out of anger? For fun? Boredom? She wasn’t sure, but she shook her head and shoved the feeling away. By the Three, what kind of thought was that? This alit was an innocent creature minding its own business. A herbivore for Veht’s sake.

 

She glanced down to see the device Sotha Sil had given her unmoving and silent. Of course, it must have been waterlogged― perhaps the strange urge had arose from leftover Daedric influence. Veya shook the bracelet and blew the excess water out of the tiny gears and cogs and whatnot. She then pressed the button.

 

Her mind and heart felt somewhat calmer, and she gently crept away from the foragging creature. She wondered if, on top of all the other curses Nocturnal had bestowed her, she might always have this evil inside her. Or had she created this malice on her own, born from months of hiding and doing naught but thinking of all the people who had screwed her over?

 

It finally dawned on her (as she’d been brought back to the ever-returning thoughts of Balmora and Naryu) that Ziikra was not with her. So much for trying to use the chain to keep them together.

 

She dusted the sand off her pants and started a jog up the hillside. It was truly a wonderful climate here, and the look of the land reminded her of Vvardenfell. Veya climbed a nearby tree and searched for any place with a crowd― knowing Ziikra’s need to help people, she likely just stumbled into a random Dominion camp and offered her aid.

 

Sure enough, she found a set of ruins with dozens of soldiers camped out, many of which were wounded. Veya cautiously made her way towards them, knowing that she’d likely be stopped because she was a―

 

“Hold! State your business. Some kind of Pact spy?!” a trembling Wood Elf commanded.

 

Veya rolled her eyes and pushed the boy’s spear away from her face.

 

“I’m looking for a Redguard lass named Ziikra. Has anyone going by that name been here?”

 

She literally watched the Khajiit’s ears pick up. How conspicuous could you be? And of course, perfect timing and all, none other than Razum-dar sauntered over and shooed the Wood Elf guard away.

 

“You search for a woman known as Ziikra? Hmm… Raz believes that is the woman he just talked to, but he would like to know what it is you want with her? Raz has sent said newcomer on several important tasks throughout Khenarthi’s Roost.”

 

Newcomer? Raz knew who Ziikra was― and he knew who Veya was, at that! But if he recognized her, his acting was impeccable, for it seemed as though they had never met before. But… the less who recognized her the better. She didn’t want the whole world to know that a former Daedric cultist was running around free from captivity.

 

“Where should I look for her first? She’s recovering from a wound and could use my help.”

 

“Raz believes that she headed for the Temple of Mourning Springs. A word of warning, we have heard reports of undead in that area. Best take a weapon with you.”

 

Veya hadn’t even realized that she was toothless, save for the tiny crossbow strapped to her arm. She nodded silently as Raz beckoned her towards the temporary blacksmith’s forge, away from the crowds of wounded soldiers. Idiot. Stupid idiot. She’d cornered herself into a tent, realizing her mistake as she felt the point of a knife press into her stomach. The cacophony of the smithy’s hammer slamming against the anvil almost drowned out the Khajiit's next words, but Veya quickly understood the authenticity of the threat from the glare in his eyes.

 

“If Raz so much as hears you chanting like a priest, he will gut you, cultist. Raz is doing a favor for Ziikra by not killing you, nothing more. He would assume that you were here to hunt her down if she had not already mentioned looking for you.”

 

“Ah. So you do remember me.”

 

“And others will too. Raz will honor his agreement with your former mentor and let you travel Dominion lands, but know that you do not have this one’s trust nor respect.”

 

“I’ve no ill intent in store for innocents. I only wish to find Ziikra. May I have a weapon?”

 

Raz studied her figure for a moment, and then let out a sly grin. He lifted a terrifyingly heavy-looking shield and tossed it to her. She would have lost her toes if not for her quick reflexes. He then gave her a mace on top of that. The weight of the metal practically made her topheavy, and she shifted her heel to balance herself out.

 

“This should be enough for a few adventures around the island. Polished and sharpened just this morning.”

 

Veya grunted under the weight of the shield, “Daggers are really more my style.”

 

“Be grateful you got anything at all,” Raz shrugged, “Off with you, Earl of Bedlam.”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

Raz’s tail swished in amusement, and Veya made a face as she strapped the shield to her back and left the camp. She only hoped that she wouldn’t come across anyone else so… insufferable.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far this is been so much fun to write. You're going to see the plots you've already seen but perhaps with a different perspective and interactions. I think Veya's going to provide a new way of looking at Tamriel that I haven't really had yet. :)


	3. Where Her Loyalties Lay

_“The prophecies of the Elder Scrolls are a fluid, living thing. They are not fixed. At many points throughout history, the actions of heroic mortals have rewritten them.”_

  


  
  


She finally found her in a bar in Mistral, laughing alongside the very cat that had sent her off on this wild guar chase to begin with. Ziikra raised her cup at Veya as the assassin slowly walked into the semi-outdoor pub.

 

“I was wondering if you’d find me!”

 

“When I encountered that wood elf mage at the Temple of the Mourning Springs, she said you’d fixed up the place and prevented undead. Then she told me to head to Shattered Shoals. When I got there, a Khajiit privateer said you’d prevented Sea Elf cultists from starting another hurricane. And she told me to check back at Eagle’s Strand! I’ve been all around the island, doing your jobs for you,” Veya frowned.

 

“Doing my jobs for me?”

 

“You know. Helping people. I put an end to two different instances of skooma smuggling! I came across an artifact of Hermaeus Mora and burnt it! I saved plantations from demise. You should be proud of me! It’s usually you doing that sort of thing but instead you are here, drinking your arse off!”

 

Ziikra laughed and stood, swaying around on the spot with dizziness. Veya rolled her eyes and walked forth. She grabbed the Redguard’s elbows and steadied her. She couldn’t help but notice how close they were, and pushed herself back just a tad to give Ziikra some space. Razum-dar took Ziikra’s mug and poured the contents out, effectively cutting her off from any more alcohol, and Veya gave him a nod of appreciation. He seemed less likely to kill her than he had at Eagle’s Strand.

 

“Ambassadors from the Dominion arrived weeks ago to negotiate its admission into the alliance. Unfortunately, things have not gone smoothly,” Raz sighed, helping her guide Ziikra over to a pile of crates and barrels. “Khenarthi’s Roost has a an old treaty with the Maormer, who claim the Dominion fleet intend to invade their home waters.”

 

“And?”

 

“This one could use your help gaining Mistral’s support. Of course, you are welcome to wait until your Redguard friend is sober enough to use her charms on diplomatic issues.”

 

Veya’s eyes narrowed. Just yesterday, this Khajiit had threatened to stab her, and now he was bossing her around with a newfound quest. Veya didn’t go on quests! That was more Ziikra’s area of expertise! Nevertheless, she pushed past him (he gave her a very patronizing bow) and guided a stumbling Warden up the stairs of the inn and towards a bed. She tipped the innkeeper, Pulemu, a few dozen coins for a single night of rest, and made her way towards a bed of her own. She wished they’d gotten their own room, but this wasn’t the big city.

 

“Hey, Veya?”

 

The Dark Elf let out a small sigh through her nose, more at the exhaustion of the day than any annoyance towards the drunken woman nearby.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are… are we safe right now?”

 

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

 

She could hear Ziikra rustling in the bed next to hers. Though it was midday, and the majority of patrons would not flock to the inn rooms until later, Veya hoped they would not disturb anyone else who slept here.

 

“I just...  I worry about Daedra.”

 

Veya couldn’t help the chuckle, “You’ve managed to piss off four _Princes_ within the span of a few months. But I think that Khenarthi’s Roost is a fairly docile island. Or rather, it will be after we solve this Maormer business.”

 

“I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want _you_ to get hurt either,” Ziikra murmured. Her words were still slightly slurred, but Veya could sense the honesty behind the alcohol.

 

The Dunmer let out a chuckle as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She walked over to Ziikra’s spot and sat down, sinking the small, stiff mattress a tad. She took Ziikra’s hand into her own, and sighed.

 

“We’re likely going to face repercussions for what I’ve done on Summerset, and perhaps for how you stopped the Triad. Even if you made that alliance with Mephala and Clavicus Vile, I’m sure they are not forgiving of the various ways we’ve thwarted them. I killed Mephala’s cultists in the Cathedral of Webs, that’s going to come back to bite me later. But… on a hopeful note, maybe they’ll forget our identities. We are miniscule compared to them. Mortals unworthy of their time. But I suspect Nocturnal will not forget. Even if she’s planes away, recovering from her plot in the Evergloam… I would just be prepared for anything.”

 

“What about Molag Bal?” Ziikra asked. Her other arm was brought up to shield her eyes from the nearby candlelight, so her muffled words almost slipped away unheard.

 

“Him? That’s still an active threat. Something tells me he doesn’t know where we are right now. Whether that’s the work of the Prophet, or of Bal not caring about us enough to go looking, I don’t know. We will take care of him. What his cultists are doing… it’s wrong. It’s going to hurt Nirn unless someone stands up to them. But I think we can exhale right now and rest for a day or two. I think we’ll be okay. Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Veya patted the Redguard’s hand that she’d been holding, and smiled as she stood. She wasn’t feeling as tired as she thought, and decided to leave the inn and go for a walk. Perhaps while Ziikra was sobering up, she might use the mirror that Valsirenn had given her. If nothing else, she could take the free time to warn the Psijics about Molag Bal.

 

And… it would be nice to ask a more seasoned soul some advice.

  


  
  


_“She’s still breathing, but look at the blood. She’s not going to make it unless we act now. The Redoran councilors will be back any moment,” Naryu said._

 

_Ziikra could hear her voice breaking― the Morag Tong mentor really did see this young woman as her daughter, didn’t she? She put her hand on Naryu’s shoulder and squeezed._

 

_“I can carry her. You take care of those Khajiit mercenaries outside.”_

 

_Naryu slipped out without so much as another word. The Redguard knelt down and slowly pulled the crossbow bolt out of Veya’s torso― knowing that it would increase the bleeding but also knowing that the pain might wake her and alert the council to her survival. She tucked the bolt back into her quiver and picked the bleeding woman up. She only hoped that there wouldn’t be a trail of red for the guards to follow back to Balmora. The younger girl’s head rested against her collarbone, and in that moment all Ziikra could think about was how frail this body felt in her arms._

 

_A small whine emitted from Veya’s lips._

 

_“I’m sorry, I don’t mean for this to be painful,” Ziikra whispered. “I’ll be as gentle as I can be, but we need to leave quick. Thank the Gods it’s nighttime.”_

 

 

 

 

_How could this have happened? All that investigating and secrecy, and she had ended up smack dab in the middle of the fight between Veya and her father. And she’d been too late. Now, a bounty would be out on the head of the woman in her arms from not one, but two different organizations. Veya let out another whimper, her eyes opening just a tad. Ziikra could even imagine how much pain she must’ve been in, and cursed herself for not being more careful in the fight. She hadn’t been thinking, in that moment all that had mattered was saving the Redoran Council._

_Vvardenfell’s atmosphere was very, very cold at night. Despite the Red Mountain spewing out streams of lava all over the island, Morrowind was very very far North. Ziikra could see her breath forming in front of her as she stumbled over rocks and pebbles towards the city of Balmora. She didn’t dare walk on the roads with a body in her arms, for fear of alerting anyone with motives more moral than her own. The blood on her coat wouldn’t help, even as hidden as it was in the darkness._

_Ashur was waiting at the gates, an unconscious guard slumped against the wall next to him. For all his swagger and bravado, Ziikra was very glad to see him. He gave her a warm smile, warmer than anything Naryu had shown her these past few days, and guided her through the lightless alleys. They disappeared into the Morag Tong hideout with the entire city none the wiser._

 

_“I’ll get to work, but I didn’t stock the safe house with supplies. We’ll have to keep her alive until we can find alchemical reagents and other medicines in the morning.”_

 

_“There’s nothing else we can do?” Ziikra asked._

 

_Ashur shook his head, “I didn’t say that. I know some restoration magic. Kind of have to when you get into fights with targets on the daily.”_

 

_There was a rustling near the trap door, and Ziikra pulled her hunting knife. Instead of any Redoran guards, though, Naryu walked up to the duo and let out an exhausted sigh. She sat down at a nearby bench, looking utterly defeated, and Ziikra tenaciously knelt._

 

_“Are you okay?” she whispered._

 

_She refused to address the way her heart was beating, attributing it to the adrenaline of her fight with Veya and the climactic ending of the Releth scandal rather than being near this woman she had a crush on. And was terrified of._

 

_“I failed. And I’ll have to answer for it with my superiors. What Veya did… it will harm the Morag Tong’s reputation. So many people killed in cold blood. And how many more if we hadn’t have stopped her? Maybe we were wrong to spare her life.”_

 

_“We weren’t wrong,” the Redguard insisted. “This will end well, I promise. We just keep her hidden long enough to find some passage for her off Vvardenfell.”_

 

_“She won’t be safe until she’s out of Morrowind, and even then, the Tong might hunt her down. And if the Tong hunts her down, they will turn to me as to why I didn’t deal with this mess and end it. And then they will hunt me down.”_

 

_“And me,” Ashur said, smiling pleasantly._

 

_“I appreciate you both sticking your neck out for me,” Naryu mumbled. “And for Veya.”_

 

_“We’ve all screwed up at some point in our lives. I mean, this is a pretty big mess, but we’ll get through it. Veya got her consequence, she’ll learn her lesson. Change her name, cut her hair. The council will announce that she died protecting her father from the Khajiit mercenaries. It will be fine.”_

 

_“You’re being awfully optimistic, hero.”_

 

_Ziikra’s words were caught in her throat. Whenever Naryu called her that, she would blush. This wasn’t an exception, and she gently excused herself to go check on Veya. Ashur had managed to close up the wound with one of his spells, but the loss of blood still showed in her pale face. She placed the back of her hand on Veya’s forehead and checked her temperature._

 

_“Do you think there’s a chance the wound may be infected? I… well.. The weapons I used might have had leftover poison…”_

 

_“Oh. Now you tell me that?!” Ashur groaned. “She’ll make it through tonight, though I may need to administer restoration spells every hour. I’ll pick up some all-purpose antidote tomorrow. I’m guessing Jarrin root isn’t your style? More of a nightshade sort of lass?”_

 

_Ziikra glanced down at her dagger and mumbled something along the lines of nirnroot._

 

_“Nirnroot poisoning? Oh please, we cook with that as seasoning all the time. In fact, we cook with a lot of alchemical reagents. Builds up an immunity. Veya should be okay, after a potion or two,” Naryu laughed from the bench._

 

_And… then they were all laughing, needing an outlet for the build up of stress from the past few days. Balmora would be fine. The Morag Tong would be fine. Veya and Naryu would get out of this safely and Ziikra could continue along her adventures. This would all just be a thing of the past._

 

She woke up from the dream in the Mistral inn. She sat up, took a deep breath, and began dressing herself. The holes in her Warden’s coat were beginning to annoy her, and she decided to do something about it. As she waited in line at the clothier’s workplace, she pulled the knife from her belt and fiddled with it. Ziikra knew it would not do well to ponder on the past, but something about that dream had her thinking. Thinking about how many times her and her friend kept saving each other. About what it meant to her, and where her loyalties lay.  

 

  


 

“I don’t mean to sound rude.”

 

Ziikra blinked and raised an eyebrow, “... but?”

 

“But what the Hlaalu are you wearing?”

 

Veya watched Ziikra sheepishly glance down at her outfit and brush off a spot of dirt. Truth be told, it was quite a beautiful set of armor, with very intricate and colorful patterning, it was just that she hadn’t seen Ziikra ever wear anything beyond her Warden’s coat.

 

“Well.. there was a passing craftsman who had just arrived here from Craglorn. He offered to make me some new armor to replace what had been torn up beyond repair in Coldharbour. It’s Yokudan― the style of clothing my ancestors used to wear. I mean… I know it doesn’t really fit in with the local look but―”

 

“No, no! It’s fine! I just… maybe the hood is a little strange. I’m used to seeing your mane,” Veya teased.

 

Ziikra smiled and pulled the hood back, freeing her hair. She then put it up in a messy bun. Winking as she did so. Veya couldn’t help but stare at her for a lingering moment.

 

“It was getting a little hot with it on.”

 

The Dunmer shook her head, “Between Summerset and now Southern Elsweyr, we’ve been spending too much time in warm places. I wouldn’t mind it if we took a vacation somewhere rainier for a while.”

 

“Didn’t you grow up next to a volcano? You ought to be used to the heat!”

 

Veya scowled and walked past her amused companion. She didn’t want to spend anymore time complaining to a Redguard of all people about the heat, but the weight of the shield on her back certainly added to her struggle.

 

Their banter was interrupted by a rather stuck-up looking High Elf. Veya knew that all Altmer liked to pretend they were high up ranking officials and whatnot, but the guards at his side certainly helped distinguish him from the common elves wandering the streets of the town.

 

“Lorkhan take them all! Why does the Silvenar negotiate with these filthy Maormer?”

 

Oh right. High Elves and Sea Elves hated each other. Veya rubbed her eyes in frustrated as Vicereeve Pelidil continued on his rant. He certainly wished to end the conflict here and now with battle― moaning about how the “Silvenar” was ruining everything with diplomacy. Veya really, really didn’t like him.

 

For a spiritual leader, the Silvenar really did seem like a nice lad. Ziikra gave him Razum-dar’s token and he instantly led them to a quiet corner to discuss the situation.

 

“The Marmer have a treaty with Khenarthi’s Roost. This is nothing to fear; a treaty is something I can work with.”

 

Yes, she liked him more than that slimeball outside.

 

“But you don’t have a copy,” Ziikra pointed out.

 

“Which means you want us to acquire a copy from one of the two parties involved,” Veya concluded.

 

“Would you be so kind? A chorus of requests may succeed in carrying the tune!”

 

“What do you say?” the Warden asked, turning to her, “Shall we save the island?”

 

“‘Save’ is a strong word. Let’s find out if we can solve this without conflict first?”

 

“You are so unadventurous.”

 

They walked away from the Silvenar and wandered through the town hall, making small talk with the various leaders. Veya was mindful of the armored Wood Elf girl lazily draped on a Khajiit-style sofa. She was picking at her nails with a rather sharp looking knife, but gave a friendly enough smile towards the pair. Harrani seemed cautious but kind. Ulondil seemed brash and threatening, but not necessarily evil. It didn’t help the overall situation that Pelidil had entered the building, sitting around, drinking, and loudly complaining about the Maormer.

 

Neither party would provide a treaty. Of course. And, to make matters more frustrating, the Silvenar suggested that they seek out Razum-dar once more to further their search. Ziikra dragged Veya back to the pub they been at this morning, now packed and accommodating for the night time drinking crowd. They explained the situation to the Khajiit, who raised his mug with a smirk.

 

“Someone needs to slip into Maormer embassy, find a way past the guard, and rifle through Ulondil’s private quarters. Oh, and do it without bloodshed that could provoke war with the Maormer. In case he was not clear, Raz is talking about you.”

 

The Pyandonean guards didn’t prohibit them from entering, but they sneered as the pair walked past. Veya knew they were about to cross the thin line between sneaking around and doing little harm, and going too deep into their adventuring. Veya left Ziikra to do the forging, knowing that the Redguard had neater handwriting that she did, and within a matter of minutes they had fooled that guard into leaving Ulondil’s quarters unlocked. And of course, that bastard Sea Elf actually had stolen Harrani’s copy of the treaty.

 

“So now we’re spies, are we?” Veya remarked as they walked out of earshot of the Embassy guards.

 

They quickly transferred to investigators when they walked in on the freshly murdered corpse of the Silvenar. She worried that the Green Lady might attack them in anger over the murder of her husband, but instead they were sent out to determine who had purchased the poison reeking the room with the smell of sulfur.

 

The Maormer assassin they found and cornered smirked as Ziikra rested her boot on her chest. She admitted that Ulondil was planning on conjuring a tempest, and that only the Silvenar and the Green Lady could stop it. Veya didn’t feel remotely sorry when the Green Lady ended her pitiful life, but she knew that the bloodshed would have to stop somewhere.

 

It worried them both that the embassy was empty. As though all of the Sea Elves had been sent to commence Ulondil’s plot. The leader himself was found cowering before the Green Lady on the second floor.

 

“We shouldn’t kill him,” Ziikra sighed.

 

_Yes we should._

 

But Veya wouldn’t listen to her own thoughts. She would not repeat Balmora. She bound Ulondil’s wrists behind his back and marched him past a glaring Green Lady.

 

Her friend laughed as they walked away from Harrani and the captured ambassador, “Well… at least we know who the bad guys are now. You wanna help me stop a hurricane from ripping apart the town or would you like to sit this one out?”

 

“And what? Let you get killed over some blue and yellow elves?”

 

Veya didn’t struggle to keep up with the racing Redguard as they headed towards Cat’s Eye Quay. For all the danger, she was actually having fun.

  


 

 

“Raz must admit. Even he did not think we’d be seeing each other again so soon. How are you, my friend?”

 

Ziikra rubbed the bump on her head where Astanya had punched her. She had been assisting the Watch Captain with some various tasks while Veya followed up on rumors about an invasion of the Western Lighthouse. And then the Captain had arrested her. And called her an assassin. Back again in Auridon and she’d already ended up in trouble― perhaps this city was cursed. As she accepted a canteen of water from him, Raz went on to explain that he and Fasion (the corpse she’d woken up next to) were agents of the Queen, attempting to thwart the plots of a group of racist zealots. He asked her to sneak past the captain’s men.

 

“This isn’t going to end well,” she grumbled.

“It never does, my friend.”

 

She thought that his plan was a little stupid. Here she was, carefully marching through the Auridon gardens dressed as a First Marine… even though she was blatantly a Redguard. This seemed terribly out of place, but no one seemed to notice.

 

The Queen was a very beautiful woman. And very dangerous looking. That distracted her a tad as she headed inside the temple of Auri-El, but she shook the thought away and listened to Battlereeve Urcelmo’s instructions. They walked in expecting perhaps one or two mischief causes, but Ziikra was genuinely surprised to find that the plot was real. Wave after wave of assassin attacked, and she wished that her and Veya had not split up.

 

Killing Astanya was easy. Too easy.

 

Ayrenn made her an Eye of the Queen, or rather offered to make her one. She felt a little honored, and she wondered if Ayrenn knew of how she’d helped Summerset only weeks ago. Were that she knew how much Ziikra had already helped the Dominion.

 

 _I really must remember to be humble,_ Ziikra mused, as she accepted the Queen’s offer. _Else I’ve not an honorable reason to help people._

 

She was asked to travel to Tanzelwil, and while she promised the Queen that she would do so, the Warden knew she would need to wait for Veya. If Queen Ayrenn would be willing to accept the aid of one foreigner, hopefully she wouldn’t shun out a Dark Elf’s help as well.

 

Three paces away from the garden, she found herself face to face with a mystical projection. She recognized him at once, the Prophet, and when he beckoned her to find him at a cave, she knew her trip to Tanzelwil would be delayed. She told him that she would be by shortly, and the projection dissipated. Then, she headed back to the rendezvous point (the local pub), where none other than her friend awaited her.

 

“I’ve heard some talk,” Veya smirked, passing her a glass of wine, “They say you saved the Queen’s life. And all I got to do was kill more Maormer.”

 

“I may have killed the Watch Captain. And you’d think the Sea Elves would have given up by now. Where do they get the resources to keep invading Summerset again and again?”

 

“Who knows. Oh, I have a question for you. Are the guards here called the Vulkhel Guard or are they called the Vulkhel Guard Guard?”

 

Ziikra raised an eyebrow, “How much have you had to drink?”

 

“Not that much. I’m just really bored right now. I’ve asked everyone in the pub and no one will give me a straight answer. I think they don’t know and they’re not willing to admit it. Stumbled into a conspiracy I have.”

 

Ziikra took a sniff of the wine. Of course, it was laced with moon sugar. Veya wasn’t inibreated by any means, but she was likely experiencing a spike of energy.

 

“Come on. We have to go find something called the Harborage.”

 

Veya cocked her head, “And why do we have to do that?”

 

“We’re fighting Molag Bal, you know, the newest Daedric Prince come to destroy the world.”

 

Veya made a face and set down her wine glass. Ziikra settled her bill for her and they left the pub― knowing they wouldn’t get anymore rest and relaxation for a while. They made a quick stop at the smithy’s to sharpen weapons and check on armor (both of them knew that Veya would need a new outfit soon, but they really didn’t have the coin for it just yet).

 

The Harborage was actually a pretty cave, as far as caves went. A beautiful assortment of flora lined the floor and walls, and Veya had to drag Ziikra away from examining them. A gorgeous pink cherry tree grew at the center of the cave, with the Prophet calmly meditating beneath it.

 

He referred to both women as Vestiges. Shells yearning for souls.

 

The Prophet opened a portal that they might witness the events of the past. She glanced at Veya’s face, seeing nothing but skepticism, but that was not enough to deter her from helping this man save the world.

 

He revealed the story of the Five Companions. She almost felt sick, seeing that damn High Elf who had sacrificed her merely strutting around. Ziikra had to remind herself that this was a dream. That being said, she pointed out his face to Veya. Though she did not consider herself one who would ever seek revenge for acts of the past (how could she, when she traveled with Veya of all people), she would not hesitate to cut off his head if she met him again.

 

The events of the Soulburst reenacted before them. Learning about the Dark Anchors. The looming threat of the Planemeld. It was all a bit much.

 

They would need to find Lyris Titanborn. She’d sacrificed her own freedom to allow all of them to escape. She remained a prisoner in Coldharbour. They would need to determine her precise location within Molag Bal’s realm to mount a rescue. The Prophet promised he would divert his energy to doing just that, and bid them farewell. They would be contacted again soon.

 

“So… I’m guessing we’ll be on the road for a while,” Veya muttered as they left the cave. “Dealing with this.”

 

“Can you cook out in the wild?”

 

“Not very well. Not to mention there isn’t much in the way of alcohol when you delve into Aleid ruins and the like.”

 

“Oh, you think we’re going into Aleid ruins?” Ziikra laughed. “Not Dwarven?”

 

“There are no Dwarven ruins this far south. Besides, we need to help out Her Highness at Tanzelwil, you said so yourself.”

 

“Right,” Ziikra nodded. She patted Veya on the back and gestured towards the path that led back to Vulkhel Guard. “I’m going to go ahead and predict that we’re biting off more than we can chew.”

 

“That we can agree on.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I am loving writing this. The art is by Rootproxy, a terrific friend and my cheerleader for this fic. Please let me know what you think so far, I think I'm excited for all of it. I think I'm especially excited for Veya meeting Ayrenn.


	4. Another Day in a Daedric Realm

_ "Oh, you know how it is. In the waters off the island, there are great sea beasts. Smaller creatures cling to their sides, eating the scraps they leave behind. It's just the same with nobility on land." _

 

  
  


“These racists have never had to work a hard day in their life. There are no poor folk among the ranks of these fanatics.”

 

Veya felt a pang. Ziikra was completely right, and by no means did the Dunmer dislike members of the other races, but the comment about poor folk stung slightly. Had she become a cultist simply because she hadn’t anything better to do? She’d never felt a day of hunger in her life. The Releth family had run an entire town, she’d grown up with fantastic clothes and rich dinners. Sure, it was always in her and her brother’s daily routine to help the beggars who would occasionally be found fishing in the Balmora canal, but Veya didn’t know poverty. She wondered if all the Veiled Heritance members had the same wealth as she’d been privileged to. 

 

It was a rather strange conversation to be holding, in the blisteringly hot Deadlands realm of Mehrunes Dagon.

 

The portal behind them, a swirling pool of amber energy, let out a warning vibrate. Both of them needed to get moving― lest they become prisoners of yet another Daedric Prince. Veya was starting to understand the core principles of the Fighters Guild. She was utterly sick of these bastards.

 

Her fingers absentmindedly trailed the walls of the cave they wandered through, feeling the holes that the volcanic rock had created. It occurred to her after a few minutes that drawing her weapon would be a smart move― made clear by a coherent and focused Ziikra already casting a frost spell beside her. 

 

“We should scout this fight out,” Veya said.

 

“No. We don’t have time. We need to fight this head on.”

 

She was right, of course. The city of Firsthold was burning, an act of the traitorous Estre. Who knew the Queen’s sister-in-law was a racist daedra worshipper, aside from anyone who had stopped and talked to the woman. Though Veya was a Mer, the mere snippet of chit chat she’d held with Estre in Skywatch was degrading and offensive.  Veya knew she couldn’t judge the book of Aldmeri people by its cover, but this attitude had been mutual in their homeland. She’d had to charm her way with gritted teeth to her position in the Court of Bedlam, just because she was the one Dark Elf in a sea of golden skin.

 

Still, her assassin training fought this “rush in and shoot everything” tactic they were about to commence. 

 

They fought a hideous daedric monster, of course, and destroyed the sigil stone.

 

And then they did it two more times with two more portals, two more portions of the Deadlands realms, two more big scary monsters, and two more sigil stones. Veya tried not to focus on the sheer amount of bodies on the ground surrounding the Firsthold castle. Poor bastards. 

 

“Five daedric realms in one lifetime is too many,” Ziikra muttered, as they stormed the main Oblivion Gate that would lead them to their target.

 

Battlereeve Urcelmo, Queen Ayrenn’s right hand man, gave the Redguard a hearty pat on the back.

 

“Good, you’re both here. We’re going after Estre.”

 

Veya lagged behind for just a moment, raising her fingers to the inky black feathers lining her jaw. She didn’t believe for a second that Estre’s point of view and reasoning for siding with a Daedra was at all comparable to her own… but it still left a sour taste in her mouth.

 

She shook her head and fought the feeling off, raising the silver scarf she’d picked up in Skywatch to cover her jaw (and consequently the feathers). If Ziikra thought this was the right thing to do, then it was. Ziikra was never wrong.

 

_ Tell that to the crying girl who dragged a bleeding body to Balmora. A body that would then turn around and betray her for the promise of a new world.  _

 

It was the crossbow that delivered the final blow, fired from her fingertips towards the heart of a High Elf who could simply be described as a desperate, fearful woman. The others moved so quickly around her, desperate to solve the chaos and save Firsthold. They blurred around Veya as she knelt beside Estre’s body. Ziikra murmured something beside her, something about no time for a funeral, but Veya didn’t really register anything but the heat of the Deadlands finally catching up to her.

 

“Can you… can you help me up, I’m not feeling well,” she mumbled. 

 

Ziikra gently guided her through the mage’s portal as Razum-dar destroyed the final sigil stone and ended Mehrunes Dagon’s plot. The interior of Firsthold Castle was pleasant and cool, as though an invasion of demons had not taken place only moments before. Veya dazedly sheathed her weapons as a slew of people began talking.

 

“We’re back! The High Kinlord is safe and Queen Ayrenn’s alliance is secure. Not bad for a day’s work!”

 

“Estre dead. Rilis found. Razum-dar couldn’t have asked for more. Even this one must admit: you do good work. Without you leading the charge, today could have gone very differently.”

 

“Ah, at last. Queen Ayrenn is eager to speak with you.”

 

“The healers have seen to me. I’m alive thanks to you!”

 

Queen Ayrenn put a hand on the shoulders of both women, thanking them for committing an act that she could not. They had saved the alliance by preventing such hatred from spreading further, had saved a city, had rid the royal family of a traitor. And of course, something along the lines of investigating unrest in another city, now that their work was done in Auridon. Veya didn’t know what it was they needed to do, but if her friend had anything to do with it, there was always more work to be done. 

 

But when she listened to the conversation between the Queen and her little brother, Naemon, that’s when it truly hit her. 

 

“You only call me ‘little brother’ when you’ve done something you regret. I heard that you declared my wife a traitor, that you ordered Estre’s death. She’s gone isn’t she? Well… no regrets. You did what must be done for the glory of the Dominion, how could there be shame in that?”

 

The expression on Ayrenn’s face was heartbreaking.

 

“Come on,” Ziikra sighed. “This isn’t the place for us, right now.”

 

Bonfires burned the corpses of the dremora and banekin, First Auridon Marines patrolling the streets for any stragglers that may have survived the collapse of the Oblivion Gates. Citizens were slowly creeping out of the cracks and crevices that they’d been hiding in. Veya watched the cleansing of a Daedric invasion take place; she wondered what messes she’d left behind across the water in Summerset. 

A barricade of barrels and crates blocked the bridge between Firsthold and the forests beyond, prompting them to walk around the pond. They came across the strangest clearing. 

 

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”

 

Ziikra smirked, “Which part? The daedric inscriptions or the skeleton leaning against that rock over there?”

 

“We need to hide, we’re in danger here.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You remember the memories that the Prophet showed us? This is the site of one of Molag Bal’s machinations. A Dolmen.”

 

The rocks that shot up from the ground did seem harsh and unnatural. The strange staircase leading up to a sacrificial altar even more so. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ziikra tense up; forced to suddenly remember the cultists who had sacrificed her and turned her into a Soul-Shriven. 

 

By Vivec, Tamriel was so disgustingly putrid with Daedra worshippers. Veya looked down at her feet with shame. To be a part of this destruction of civilization and nature… 

 

“Should we stay? We might capture cultists if we do. Learn more about their plans.”

 

Ziikra shook her head, “No. We can tip off the First Auridon Marines. We have our orders from the Queen.”

 

“That’s not like you to ignore an enemy.”

 

“We’re injured, tired, our equipment is in poor condition. I don’t have the magicka for a fight right now. We must pick our battles.”

 

Veya offered a smile, gesturing for the Redguard to lead them away. 

 

“Alright,” she said. “I’m sure the Fighter’s Guild can handle this one for us. Skywatch it is.”

  
  


  
  


After the two of them had woken up from a friendly drinking bet against Captain Jimila in Skywatch, they stumbled with pounding headaches back towards Vukhel Guard. At least they had a free voyage to Grahtwood, but Ziikra really would have appreciated it if the sun could stop its stupid shining for just one moment. 

 

The projection of the Prophet sprung up in her face and beckoned her and Veya to meet him at the Harborage. She almost shushed him. It seemed like the Dunmer held her liquor better than the Redguard, assuring the Prophet that they would be at his hideout within the hour. Good for her.  

 

“Here.”

 

A canteen was pushed into Ziikra’s hands and she readily drank the water from it. She was grateful for the potion of water purification they had picked up back in Mathiisen, kneeling down at one of Auridon’s many streams to refill the jug when she’d finished gulping from it.

 

An hour later they arrived to the pleasant cave of the Prophets, listening to him detail his newest plot to rescue Lyris. Ziikra’s stomach still felt a little queasy, but she knew she needed to be up for the job then and there. Every second Lyris was forced to stay in Coldharbour was cruel and unjust― and every second of Ziikra’s freedom had felt wasted, aside from chasing down Estre and possibly saving Khenarthi’s Roost. 

 

“Lyris works a terrible forge, under the lash of the great deceiver, Molag Bal. Her soul is in great danger. You must go to her,” The Prophet warned. “I can manifest a gate to that dark realm, but you must go quickly.”

 

“Alright,” Veya nodded. “We should have everything we need, so long as we can escape from Coldharbor in the same manner we get there.”

 

The Prophet slammed his staff on the ground twice, opening a brilliant portal of turquoise light. One after the other, the women stepped inside. Ziikra couldn’t say she was happy to be back to the current source of woes. Coldharbour was a realm of prisons within prisons, where all the imprisoned work without cease at the hands of Molag Bal… Soul-Shriven lifelessly standing here and there, chains binding them together by the ankles. They had to step around crates filled to the brim with soul gems, causing Ziikra to shudder in fear. How many lives were inside a single wooden box?

 

She watched Veya pick two up and put them in her bag.

 

“Just in case something happens. Thus far it’s worked twice to heal us. Who knows what dangers we encounter in here.”

 

“You don’t have to defend your actions,” Ziikra solemnly said. “We’re in a lawless place.”

 

A pause.

 

“Whatever it takes to get all three of us back alive, okay?”

 

“I… okay… I just worry that you’re cautious of me,” Veya said, her brow furrowing. “Because of what I did. I don’t mean to excuse myself all the time, I just don’t want you thinking I’m still some evil hagraven.”

 

Ziikra let the comment hang in the air as they began sneaking around the Black Forge, trying to find Lyris. She remembered telling Veya that she was not ready for her anger. But the Warden didn’t know if the comment still mattered to her. After seeing what kind of person Estre was, versus what kind of person Leythan had been, she was beginning to see the many layers that evil took its form. She was beginning to understand that while Veya had done very wrong things, there hadn’t always been malice behind them. Frustration, sure― abandonment, even. But for all the chaos Veya had caused, Ziikra never once saw the actions of an evil person in them. 

 

The hagraven comment stung, though Ziikra was not the one to feel pain. Neither woman had talked about the many feathers adorning the Dark Elf’s body― a result of her mutation to become a monster of Nocturnal’s making. Or perhaps in the manner a murderer might leave a calling card to signify his mark on a victim, Nocturnal had blessed the poor girl with this horrid curse to show the world exactly who Veya belonged to. It didn’t matter. The Redguard knew that her friend was miserable, even if she didn’t show it. 

 

She snapped into focus as Veya walked up to Lyris and confronted her.

 

“You! You’re alive! Are you really here, or is this another trick?”

 

“It’s us, the Prophet sent us to find you,” Veya calmly assured.

 

Lyris let out a sigh of relief, “Then he’s still alive. Thank the gods! But, you! You two can’t stay! You have to leave before they find you here!”

 

“We’re not leaving without you!”

 

“You don’t understand. They’ve… done something to me. I can’t leave. It’s hard to describe. My memories, my feelings, they’ve been fragmented. Ripped apart. And all the fragmented pieces have been locked away in different parts of the Foundry. The fragments are reflections of my worst fears and most painful memories. I can’t… I don’t think I can face them.”

 

“That won’t stop us,” Ziikra smirked. “We’ll face your fears and memories together. Come on.”

 

“Just another day in a daedric realm. One after another after another.”

 

“Can it, Veya.”

 

Her arms raised in the air, and she concentrated with all her might on summoning her other best friend. She didn’t know where At-Ius came from, if he, too, was daedric in origin, but it didn’t matter. The team was back together, and they would slay every dremora that stood in between them and Nirn. 

 

It really helped that demons, as a general rule, aren’t prepared for five-hundred pound bears to slam into them in their own home. 

 

They watched Lyris reunite with her memory of her father. Ziikra tried not to make eye contact with Veya― watching a father and daughter profess their love for each other wasn’t exactly something the Dunmer would ever get the chance to do for the rest of her life. 

 

“Be at peace,” Veya whispered to the grave, as they left the memory of Skyrim behind. 

 

Through another hallway, they encountered the illusion of an Imperial war camp. It made sense, as the Prophet had mentioned that Lyris was the bodyguard of the man who had attempted to become Emperor and failed. Ziikra had never really thought about the Imperial army. She supposed that, aside from some the folk who lived up in Craglorn, and them that lived along the border, her people hadn’t received the colonialism that the Empire had brought to other parts of Tamriel. Still, the Empire was a center of peace and learning when nine different countries weren’t vying for the Ruby Throne. And, as Lyris proved, working for and with the Empire was a place of refuge for people who didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

 

These Imperials, though, the ones that were clearly dremora in disguise. Ziikra and Veya slayed them without mercy, but their tauntings betrayed the Nord woman’s lonely past. 

 

At least, with the deaths of those demons, Lyris now had armor. 

 

“I can’t believe it. This armor is who I am. It’s what I am. A warrior without her armor is like a bear without claws.”

 

Lyris suited up, and Ziikra caught Veya scratching At-Ius behind the ears, saying something about “a bear’s bite hurting worse than the paws”. 

 

Past the next door, they encountered the projection of a strange man offering aid. Him and Lyris instantly began bickering, reminding Ziikra of an average conversation between Veya and Naryu. But, the man had managed to sneak Lyris’s precious battleaxe into the section of Coldharbour that they were escaping. Ziikra would be sure to remember the kindness, even if it stung her in the future. 

 

Sure, the battleaxe was sitting in a nest of bones belonging to an ancient Clannefear, but they easily got through that fight with some crossbow bolts, some magic and a pretty impressive Nordic punch. 

 

“Who was that man?”

 

“Abnar Tharn. I don’t trust him and I never will. But I can’t let a hatred for him poison me.”

 

Further into the Foundry, Ziikra found the vision of a captured Redguard man. He and Lyris exchanged a few words, and he revealed that the Amulet of Kings was still hidden away from Daedric eyes. He must have been Sai Sahan. Ziikra had grown up in a city full of men who looked like him, with tough faces and wise eyes. He even looked a little like her father. 

 

It broke her heart to see a fellow Redguard’s face so full of hopelessness and exhaustion. She made a silent vow to save him. 

 

They pushed through, dremora after dremora, until they came across one of Molag Bal’s Watchers, a horrific tentacled monster blocking their path to Nirn. Lyris exclaimed something along the lines of it being the source of her terrors, and Ziikra let out a sigh. No sneaking around it, she supposed. 

 

It felt wrong to leave hundreds of Soul-Shriven behind, mindlessly standing around waiting to be tortured. 

 

Ziikra had a sit down in the Prophet’s cave after they escaped through the portal. At-Ius sat on the ground next to her while Veya recollected the events of their adventure to the Prophet. She caught something along the lines of locating Sai Sahan, and locating the hiding place of the Amulet of Kings. 

 

Lyris caught the two of them on the way out of the cave.

 

“I know it sounds strange, but… I knew you two would come. I had faith in you. I still do. I hope we can be good friends.”

 

“Onwards to Grahtwood?” Veya asked, taking off the hood and scarf that hid her face as they shut the wooden door to the Harborage behind them.

 

“I would like to make a group vote. We lie to Jimila, say we won the drinking bet, and get our own cabin on the voyage. I need to sleep for a week and a ship in the middle of the ocean― far away from magic and daedra and problems― seems like a good place to nap.”

 

Veya didn’t stop laughing at Ziikra all the way back to Vukhel Guard.

 

 

 

  
  


  
  
  


The Jackdaw Pirates weren’t so hard to kill, and perhaps that wasn’t a great thing to think about, but Veya would rather stop fellow Dunmer in one fell swoop than host a long and bloody battle with someone who may have once been her neighbor. Lord Gharesh-ri, a kind and wise Khajiiti general, had mentioned that the Jackdaw lieutenants were the key to retaking the fort protecting the city of Haven, and it was her job to end them. She killed them. She could have evesdropped and snuck around like the person she used to be, but she knew that if these people got away, they would terrorize and kill more innocents. And there was the frequent mention of necromancy― an act so vile that most people in the world deemed it punishable by death. If these pirates offended in such a manner, it was Veya’s duty to end them.

 

It didn’t help that a young Dark Elf pirate, merely a few years younger than her, looked into her eyes with absolute terror as she knocked him down with her mace.

 

“May the Three keep you,” she muttered, killing the boy. 

 

Probably would have been better if Ziikra had taken this job, and Veya had gone to Elden Root to talk to King Camoran. Oh well. 

 

There was a first for everything, it seemed, and today was Veya’s first encounter with the undead. She put them down as gracefully as possible, wishing proper burials to all. This was a woman who had faced more dangers than a woman at her age ought to have faced, but the zombies did make her squeamish. She wished Ziikra could have given her control of At-Ius somehow, it would be nice not to be in this fortress all alone. 

 

She wondered how the Redguard was faring in such a terrifying and humid jungle.

  
  


 

 

_ I never want to leave _ , she thought to herself, smiling as she studied a fungus growing on the side of a three-hundred foot tall tree. 

 

This was a Warden’s paradise. Of course, this was where the Wardens were said to originate, according to the research she did back on Vvardenfell. Ziikra felt alive here, the complete opposite of the desolation she’d experienced in the Clockwork City. There was nothing  _ but  _ life here! Flowers grew in place of the footprints she left behind, and the vines all but reached down to help her climb to the tree canopies!

 

A breath of fresh air and beautiful blue skies above her. Oh, she wanted to spend the rest of her life in Valenwood! Well, maybe she could do without the stranglers. But everything else was perfect here! Where Summerset was considered a glistening paradise, this was raw power! Unbridled nature! The smile forming at her face was one of newfound love. 

 

Tourists to the great city of Elden Root traveled in packs, learning the history of Valenwood and the many rules of Bosmer culture. Ziikra didn’t understand why so many High Elves considered their Wood Elf cousins to be lesser people simply because they didn’t build fancy limestone castles― there was something so refreshingly noble about a people who protected the growth of nature to the death. 

 

The purchase was immediate. She would tell Veya about it later. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest financial decision, especially since they would be on the road frequently, but she knew that after all this was over (haven’t heard that one before), she would love this city with all her loyalty. 

 

King Camoran Aeradan was a really nice lad. There was age and wisdom in the wrinkles lining his face, but humor in his eyes. 

 

He gave her the task of bureaucratics, however, and asked her to deal with Prince Naemon. Naemon… where had she heard that name before? It sounded familiar, was he related to Ayrenn? Ah, yes, he was her brother. Which meant that his wife was―

 

Oh no.

 

He remembered who Ziikra was. He definitely snapped at her in front of the entire Bosmeri royal court. And there were implications in his choice of words, implications that he was at the very least sympathetic to the mindset that had given the Veiled Heritance power. Or perhaps it was the harmless but annoying ignorance that High Elves held in regards to superiority. All the same, her sympathies towards him for having killed his wife dissipated at his attitude towards the Bosmeri people.  

 

A mob was beginning to form in front of the Embassy, and soldiers in Aldmeri armor had drawn swords, preparing to fight back. She rushed inside, determined to figure out why this conflict existed. 

 

The food the Dominion had provided for the Khajiit workers was rotten and spoiled. The tools broken. All the supplies were worthless. She had absolutely no idea how to salvage this situation. Finding murdered Wood Elf workers didn’t clarify the situation. 

 

She captured the Aldmeri ambassador. She defeated yet another Heritance zealot. This was getting old. How many times did racists need to be pummeled into the ground by her boot before they realized that their sense of superiority didn’t protect them? Though the Aldmeri Dominion were not her people, she felt a duty to protect this alliance. 

 

She reported to Naemon, who gave her a sneering response lined with the promise of duty. The praise he gave her seemed honeyed and false, and she accepted his reward of a pendant for her work, knowing that as soon as she was out the door she would sell it and give the gold to someone who needed it. 

 

He sent her out with the request to aid in Ayrenn’s upcoming ratification ceremony. Ziikra decided to head out to the Falinesti Winter Site first, to recover Rajhin’s Mantle. Then, to the Reliquary of Stars, for the Heart of Anumaril. Then, to South Point, for a woman who could operate the Orrery.

 

She ran into an exhausted looking Veya, armor covered in flower petals and surrounded by a swarm of butterflies. Some of the locals were beginning to stop and stare at the Dunmer, but Ziikra merely tilted her head in amusement.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

Veya took a sip of local rotmeth and let out a long sigh through her nose, “I left Haven and went to offer aid to South Point.”

 

“And? What was there?”

 

“You don’t want to know. Needless to say my tally for encounters with Daedric Princes has risen.”

 

Veya passed the cup to Ziikra, who flicked a butterfly off before taking a sip. Strong stuff. Really strong stuff. The discussed her newfound task, and the Redguard was relieved to find out that Veya had already brought the Conservator back with her to Elden Root. That was a third of the tasks complete. 

 

“Do you want to split up to save time or stick together to stay safe?”

 

Veya grabbed the cup and downed the rest of the alcohol quickly, “Let’s stick together. You always get the normal, heroic crap. After today I could use a boring quest, something nice and mundane.”

 

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art is by my bff Rootproxy!! 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. I pushed through it today but I think now that I'm out of Auridon, I'll have more to write about (it's just that I've done the Auridon questline like 10 times now and I'm so tired of it XD ). I also wanted to ask, if anyone out there feels like commenting, is the pace of the time skips okay? I feel we don't need to go over every quest but some quest detail here and there is okay. I just didn't want us to be in this fic all day, the later chapters (i.e. quests and zones) are where it's going to get super emotional. 
> 
> As always, leave comments please!


	5. The Orrery and the Tharn

_ “What is it? What did you see?” _

 

_ “A Dominion of peace. The fair and just rule of Tamriel, beneath an Aldmeri banner. A future I hope to build. And you two, standing at my side. Come, help me build the future.” _

 

  
  


They recovered Rajhin’s Mantle from the frozen Falinesti excavation (having to kill an Aldmeri Dominion general in the process), and the Heart of Anumaril from the Reliquary of Stars. Ziikra decided, if anyone asked what their adventures were like, that she would leave out the fact that they literally had to walk into a courtyard named the  _ Flesh Garden _ to acquire the divine item for Queen Ayrenn. Daedra had the dumbest names for thing, no sense of finesse. 

 

“Why are we doing this again?” 

 

“To prove to the entirety of the Aldmeri Dominion that Queen Ayrenn is worthy of ruling Tamriel as Empress.”

 

“Ok but why are  _ we  _ doing it? The Dominion is made up of High Elves, Khajiit, and Bosmer. You’re a Redguard and I’m a Dunmer. I didn’t think I needed to point that out I’m just confused why it’s us running around doing this.”

 

Ziikra smiled just a tad and shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe that’s why we’re doing it. The Prophet dropped us down on Khenarthi’s Roost when we all first escaped Coldharbor. I’ve just been doing what I normally do since. It’s not like I’m exclusively loyal to the Covenant, or Fahara'jad. As far as I know you’re not exactly loyal to the Great Houses or the Pact?”

 

“Far from it. If not that, what are you loyal to?”

 

She could feel her lips forming a sly smile, “I’m not sure. Maybe I do all this that I might find something to be loyal towards.”

 

“Well… you could have picked a less pretentious people to lend your aid,” Veya sighed.

 

They approached Meleras, Naemon’s assistant, and checked in about the Orrery and the ratification ceremony. They had done what had not been done in centuries. The parts of the Orrery had been placed within the chamber, and Daraneth awaited them below. According to Meleras, the Orrery had not been operational within his lifetime. Nothing else was left for them to do.

 

Naemon at least seemed more pleasant than the last they’d talked, though he was talking about his sister in a tone that was more neutral than kind. And that stupid ambassador from Khenarthi’s Roost was behind him, muttering something along the lines of Ayrenn wasting her time. The pair of them made Ziikra uncomfortable, and she motioned to her companion that they should leave the throne room.

 

“So we get to sit in on a ceremony that supposedly decides the fate of Tamriel,” Veya said. “Or we could go get dinner.”

 

Ziikra pushed through the door that led to a section of Elden Root reserved for crafting. It was still so amazing that an entire city fit inside a tree and still more plants could be found naturally growing inside. 

 

“Hey, how many coins do you have on you right now?” Veya curiously asked.

 

“Roughly four-hundred. Why?”

 

“I heard a vendor selling backpacks for half that at a stall nearby. Would it be possible for me to borrow enough to get us something to carry items around?”

 

“Weren’t we saving up for new armor for you?” Ziikra teased, gesturing at the shoddy poncho that had replaced Veya’s Bedlam robes back on Artaeum. They were decent enough when she had left, but after Coldharbor, Mistral, Auridon, and now Grahtwood, the amount of holes and stains was beginning to make Veya look like a beggar.

 

The Dunmer glanced down at her outfit, “Oh, I can wear this, it’s not so bad. I don’t want to stand out.”

 

Huh. Humbling was certainly a new way of seeing the world that Ziikra had never heard from Veya. She fumbled at the pocket in her coat and procured a weighted pouch that clinked with every hint of movement. 

 

“Here you are. Spend what you need to, I’m sure Camoran or Ayrenn will reward us for what we did. If nothing else, we can weasel someone from Southpoint into buying a meal should we run out of money.”

 

Veya came back after a few minutes with a small but sturdy pack snugly secured at her shoulder. A small shovel and pickaxe were also tied to it.

 

“Didn’t take you for the hunter-gatherer type of person.”

 

The Dark Elf shrugged, “Actually, when you live across a field from tribes and tribes of Ashlanders, you pick up skills. Ulran taught me whatever they taught him, so I do know a bit about foraging. And, I lived next to Vassir-Didanat Mine. My dad sent me on errands and I would often goof off and spend time with the miners. So you’d be surprised what I know about prospecting ore.”

 

“And we’re going to go looking for ore? While we’re fighting Daedric Princes?”

 

“Got to make a living somehow. Adventuring earns you fame but not necessarily fortune. We can take turns with the backpack.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

Veya rolled her eyes, “I was under the assumption that we split whatever we get fifty-fifty.”

 

Past the shrines on the bottom floor of the great tree, past the strange tent of warriors that called themselves Undaunted, but before the Embassies, there was a path of old, worn stone. A single Dominion guard stood outside the old Aleid doors, but she had a feeling there were plenty more folks inside in cast anything went wrong.

 

They entered the Orrery. 

 

Honestly, though there were a few Ayleid ruins in Alik’r and Bangkorai, Ziikra had never spent much time in them. They interested her, perhaps not as much as the many, many Dwarven ruins that dotted her homeland, but to an extent they invoked a curiosity. They were terrifying, to say the least. Intimidating and ominous. The idea that people lived in these and didn’t go nuts from the lack of sunlight was equally strange. 

 

Down the white marble hallway, Pelidil and Meleras argued about the dangers of the Orrery while the Ratification Ceremony was in process. The Bosmer something about the Ayleid construct possibly exploding.

 

“Upon consideration, I suppose I could wait by the door,” Pelidil hesitated. “To call for help should anything go wrong.”

 

Veya scoffed and muttered something under her breath along the lines of, “Coward should take that stick out of his―”

 

“Keep it professional.”

 

Around a few corners they encountered Naemon and Ayrenn having a heartfelt conversation. 

 

“I won’t turn my back on family. My place is in your shadow, as it has always been. Today the Dominion will see why a High Elf is fit to rule Tamriel.”

 

Ziikra didn’t trust those words. She walked up to him and kindly listened to him.

 

“An Ayleid artifact, supposedly touched by the gods, will proclaim my sister worthy of becoming the empress of Tamriel. But this changes little. There are those who will always question her right to rule,” he sighed.

 

She tuned him out and caught the conversation Veya was holding with the Queen.

 

“Prince Naemon says you’re to thank for ensuring the ratification ceremony will happen without delay.”

 

Veya gave a weak smile, “It was no trouble, your majesty.”

 

“Nonsense, it was a great deal of trouble. It’s not something one forgets, especially when one is a queen.”

 

Ziikra, who had learned about what had gone down at Southpoint, struggled not to laugh as Veya gave a stiff salute (or what passed as a salute). She gently tugged Veya by the backpack that they might give the royal siblings a minute alone. 

 

“How exciting!” King Camoran exclaimed as they passed. “The Orrery has done nothing but spin for generations. I used to climb through the rungs as a child. To think, I’ll be the king who sees it work again.”

 

He then pulled a deerskin flask out and took a swig, offering the drink to either of the two women.

 

“Thanks, but I’ll remain sober for this,” Ziikra smiled.

 

Veya grabbed, or rather snatched the drink, “Suit yourself. Thanks, your Highness.”

 

They descended down the stairs into the main room of the Orrery, hosting the contraption it was named for. It did indeed spin at a slow but ominous pace, a magical metal construct that no doubt held more secrets than Ziikra bargained for. Dareneth was presiding over it at the bottom of the stairs, her aged face illuminated by the turquoise welkynd stones dotting the room. 

 

“Hello there, miss Releth. Strange to see you, after Southpoint. Not bad, just… strange. But no matter. I can hardly believe we’re about to breathe some life into this old girl. And before you ask, yes, I’m speaking of the Orrery.”

 

“Um… well...  are you ready to begin?” the Dunmer asked.

 

“Almost. Ziikra, with your aid, I’m assuming, recovered the pieces needed for the Orrery’s activation, so it’s only fair you two are here to put them in place. I should be the one to ask… are you ready?”

 

A glance between the two friends.

 

“We’re ready,” Ziikra nodded.

 

“Good! The first thing you’ll need is to take up Rajhin’s Mantle. ‘A god’s hands move the Orrery,’ goes the translation. But that’s a load of boarslop. You simply need to be in three places at once. Rahjin’s Mantle should allow for that.”

 

Veya interrupted Ziikra before she could take the piece of armor from the Conservator.

 

“Is it safe? Rajhin’s Mantle drove General Endare mad.”

 

“Oh, you’ll be alright. That overly earnest fellow from the Mages Guild assured me that you’d be safe if you wore it for no longer than ninety minutes. Or was it nine? No matter, the ceremony will take five minutes. Maybe six.”

 

Ziikra definitely wondered if Dareneth had suffered lingering effects from Sheogorath’s influence in Southpoint. 

 

“Alright, let’s do it.”

 

They activated the pillars beyond the machine. They heard Naemon and Camoran arguing about the ceremony, with the Prince not showing as much respect towards this ancient contraption as he should have been. 

 

“Fascinating,” Ayrenn muttered. “And a bit intimidating. But I suppose you could say that about much of Ayleid construction.”

 

“Hmph. It has its own archaic charm, I’ll admit,” Naemon muttered behind her. 

 

“This is wonderful. After all these years… it’s going to work, I know it.”

 

Their last task to activating the Orrery was to place the Heart of Anumaril in the pillar next to where the Royalty had all gathered. It would “Awaken the Orrery”, according to Dareneth. Ziikra walked up the steps, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Veya had a hand on her mace, ready for the first sign of trouble. Were it to come to that, Ziikra would summon At-Ius. She placed the Heart of Anumaril in the pillar and the Orrery came to life. And Naemon walked down. 

 

“Truly a momentous day!” he declared.

 

He stunned all of them with a magical spell, running inside the contraption. Ziikra used Rahjiin’s Mantle to break free from the spell and rushed towards Veya. She couldn’t shake her free, and it wasn’t like she could share the divine piece of armor with her. The Orrery shined a bright light and Naemon fell out… transformed into a giant monster.

 

“No!” a grotesque voice screamed from the mass of flesh. “You tricked me sister! It’s your fault! Vermin, all of you! I’ll kill you all!”

 

The beast began lumbering towards the queen. She had to do something. Ziikra drew her swords and charged. She slid underneath the beast and slashed, tripping it. She stabbed where she could, she dodged where she could. The thing, akin to an ogrim, died without too much of a fight but the shame she felt killing what used to be Prince Naemon lingered as the body reverted to that of the Prince’s. 

 

Ayrenn broke free of the magical bonds first. “Naemon… what were you thinking?” she whispered. Her voice sounded heartbroken. 

 

All eyes in the room fell on the Redguard, who still had her swords drawn. Ziikra quickly sheathed them, still stained with blood, and rushed over to Veya. The Dunmer accepted a hand up and sighed.

 

“I’m alright, he just got the better of me. At least you stopped him from harming everyone.”

 

Daraneth got up beside them, “Prince Naemon knew the dangers. What hubris, to do such a thing.”

 

Together the women walked up to the platform where the surviving royals stood. Camoran had sustained an injury, but Ayrenn stood tall and strong. 

 

“Why?” the Queen angrily asked.

 

Ziikra panicked. Of all the things she’d ever had to do, this seemed like it would have unfair consequence. Fear suddenly rushed through her, as there wasn’t much exit to the Ayleid ruin besides through a dozen Aldmeri Dominion guards.

 

“She had little choice, Your Majesty,” Veya answered.

 

“What? No, I… why would Naemon do this? I made him a part of what we were building, tried to show him this is about more than just “our people.” I would have all of Tamriel be our people.”

 

Well… at least they weren’t going to be killed by her, it seemed.

 

“What did the Orrery do to him?”

 

“What the legend says,” Ayrenn trembled, tears welling in her eyes. “It revealed the person within. As it will do to me.”

 

“You can’t be serious,” Camoran interjected.

 

“Do you think I have a choice in this? I will enter the Orrery, as I swore to the people of the Aldmeri Dominion. I must learn whether I’m fit to lead them. And if I’m not… If I’m changed, as my brother was… I can’t become a danger to the people I’ve sworn to lead. Do you understand me?”

 

Both women nodded silently. There was a grief hanging in the air for Naemon, even if he wasn’t a likeable person… no one should have had that happen to them. The Queen walked down to the machine and stepped inside. The entire room glowed a brilliant turquoise, the machine lighting up and spinning faster. Then, as quickly as she had entered, the Queen appeared again. Her entire body glowed with electricity, but at least she wasn’t a monster. 

 

She thanked them and gave them a new task, though Ziikra had a sneaking suspicion that it was on account of the Queen needing to be left alone. Still, she appreciated being guided towards their next problem to solve. 

 

 

 

“It will take all your energy to do, since you haven’t been spending a long time doing this like most mages. It will also exhaust you because you’re not a mage, and don’t have any experience in the magic arts. But… I think you can pull it off,” Valsirenn said.

 

Veya adjusted the angle of the Psijic compact mirror. It felt like so long ago since she’d awoken on Artaeum, but she was thankful that the monk was still happy to talk to her. Having a more aged and experienced person giving her advice was quite a relief. Not that Ziikra wasn’t a good source of advice, but the Redguard did have a certain moral alignment that didn’t always help them get out of trouble. 

 

Valsirenn’s Psijic projection, flowing out of the compact mirror, danced around in a specific set of moves, demonstrating how to cast the spell that Veya would then attempt. Ziikra sat off to the side on a mossy rock, eating away at the drumstick that she’d purchased from a Wood Elf chef. She seemed ammused at Veya’s attempt at magic.

 

“I’m not unskilled at magic. I know a few… Daedric spells.”

 

“Well, this is just everyday common bullshit, so if you’re going to give me that attitude I’ll judge you for it,” Valsirenn chuckled.

 

“It’s a portal to Auridon, how hard can it be?” Ziikra added.

 

“Oh shut up, you could be doing this, you’re the one that stops time and summons bears.”

 

“Yes, but working hard builds character.”

 

Veya copied the movements. She felt like an idiot and no doubt looked like one. Magicka had never been a force that ran through her veins, and what she could do when she was an Earl of Nocturnal she did because the Prince had given her powers. On her own… there was virtually no skill. 

 

“Magic is the oldest force in the world. Just as a boat’s sail captures a small portion of wind for a short period of time, so too will you. You will grab ahold of an invisible river, feeling it slip through your fingers, but just because you cannot have all the water does not mean you cannot have any of it. All around us magicka floats and swirls and merely exists, you must know where to latch on. Let this force do the work for you. Even the magic inside of you can open this portal if you will it so.”

 

Ziikra stood up and walked beside Veya. 

 

“Here hold your arm like this. You don’t need to be so stiff. Take a breath.”

 

Veya took a breath. A dark hand dotted with scars covered her own feathered gray one and raised it into the air.

 

“Draw and oval with your hand and your mind repeatedly. It doesn’t have to be perfect. You just have to think of Auridon, think of the Harborage, and make a river that leads us there.”

 

All Veya could think about was Ziikra’s hand on her own. Valsirenn watched the pair with an intensity, and Veya wanted to snatch the magical compact mirror shut. Somehow this moment seemed private. 

 

There was a ripple in the air. She could feel the hand touching hers grow cold, like ice, and her own skin tingled with a force she wasn’t familiar with. Something errupted from her fingers and an oval appeared in the air. 

 

Light suddenly bounced all over the foliage surrounding them, the source of which was a portal twenty feet in front of them.

 

“Nice job, even though Ziikra did most of the work.”

 

“Hey,” the Redguard smirked, “Even a few first steps are better than nothing. It’s my first portal too.”

 

Veya took a deep breath, her fingers still tingling, “Thank you, Valsirenn. It was kind of you to teach me how to do this.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. Sounds like the two of you will need a way of quickly moving across Tamriel, and traveling the Psijic way is your best bet.”

 

It was nice that they weren’t in the middle of Elden Root doing this, instead off in the forest where no one could follow them. Veya didn’t doubt that a Brakenleaf Briar or Vinedusk Ranger was spying on them from somewhere atop the trees, but avoiding Worm Cultists was her true goal in being out here. 

 

She picked up her backpack and closed the compact mirror, causing Valsirenn’s projection to dissipate. Ziikra dusted her pants off and smirked.

 

“If it makes you feel better, I learned out that I could cast magic by having a giant bear nearly crush me. Before that I was your average weapons-only Redguard, and barely into weapons at that..”

 

“Well if the savior of the world didn’t even know a single spell it would be a little disappointing. Me, I’m just the mysterious stranger who follows you everywhere and dishes out mean looks, from what they say. So I technically don’t even need to know magic,” Veya argued.

 

“Builds character. Come on!”

 

Portals were always weird. Like you were almost but not quite being hit by a sorcerer’s lightning bolt. Not that Veya had ever faced that kind of arcane destruction. Perhaps a portal was more akin to being hit by one of Ziikra’s vines, though in this sense it was very suddenly and with only a milliseconds worth of pain.

 

It was nice to be in Auridon again. Veya wouldn’t admit it but she really didn’t share the affection Ziikra had for Valenwood. A fog had settled overhead, letting the isle be shrouded in a pleasant chill. She hiked her scarf further up her face and smiled beneath it, happy that it was almost as cold as home. Ziikra opened the door to the Harborage, and they stepped inside.

 

Lyris Titanborn was perched on one of the mossy rocks with a lute (or was it a lyre?) in her hands, picking the strings and creating a beautiful melody.

 

“Good, good. You are safe. Good fortune did not abandon us entirely,” the Prophet sighed, sinking into the wooden chair.

 

“Is something wrong?” Veya asked, 

 

She took a loaf of bread out of her new backpack and split it with Ziikra. The Prophet tightened his grip on his staff, needing it to stand upright in his old age. 

 

“Despite many days of meditating and scrying, Sai Sahan’s whereabouts still elude me.The projection that you witnessed in the Foundry of Woe showed him to be in great peril. If we are to find him, I will need your help, Vestiges.”

 

He went on to warn them that an agent of Mannimarco had been spotted by Lyris, lurking somewhere in Vulkhel Guard. This person might provide them with a clue that would hasten their search.   

 

“The Worm Cult is a cult of necromancy, and the undead are fearsome opponents.”

 

Veya pretended not to notice Ziikra tense up beside her. They left the odd pair of the warrior and the monk behind them as they headed back towards Vulkhel Guard. Veya noted that her Redguard friend had not touched her share of the bread loaf and spoke up;

 

“Do undead bother you, Ziikra?”

 

She nodded, “It is a taboo of my people to strike down our ancestors. There are those that are prepared to strike them down, outcasts known as Ash’abah, but generally necromancy is a difficult force to contend with. I have struck down dead of other peoples before, but never my own.”

 

“Ah. I’m a little used to it, I supposed. Sometimes you go wandering where you’re not supposed to in Vvardenfell and, well, you know.”

 

“I just worry that the Worm Cult may use Redguard corpses and… and then I’d be committing a great dishonor. I mean, it would be doing the right thing, because we have to stop them, but―”

 

“I think,” Veya paused. “I think that the souls who have been sacrificed would be grateful if you would put them to rest. And I think that if anything happens, we don’t have to tell anyone.”

 

Ziikra made a face and shook her head, “We’ll just sneak about. Invisibility potions. We don’t have to hurt them, I’m sure they’ll drop dead once their necromancers are killed.”

 

“I will gladly kill zombies for you, okay?”

 

“Do you say that to all the girls you meet?”

 

Veya playfully pushed her friend into the water as they made their way down the beach, laughing and preparing for a fight. The questioned a cheerful fisherman about strangers lurking about, for a bribe of a few coins he quietly mentioned a strange Imperial man lurking around the lighthouse slipping inside with what looked like something dead. The questioned a Wood Elf performer, who mumbled something about an Imperial asking about local burial grounds. And they were pointed back towards the lighthouse by this second witness. 

 

“How could he sneak a body though the town? Even at night the place is crawling with spies and soldiers and merchants.”

 

Ziikra nodded, “It’s strange. But if he starts some sort of necromancer invasion while the Queen is in Grahtwood, it would be fairly devastating. The First Auridon Marines were weakened by Estre’s invasion of Firsthold.”

 

They found their way into the lighthouse, searching around and even climbing up to the beacon. Not a thing. On their way back down, Veya’s toe caught on a rug and revealed uneven flooring. They pulled the rug back. 

 

“Oh great a hidden cellar. There’s literally never an honest reason to have a hidden cellar.”

 

They descended to a series of daedric ruins, furnished with banners that flew a familiar Prince’s face. 

 

“This is fine. This is… ok, you know what we’re going to have to kill someone, aren’t we?” Veya frowned. 

 

“I don’t know where my people stand on killing skeletons, but I’m going to go ahead and guess that they’re High Elf in origin?” Ziikra muttered, drawing her sword. “I think that’s okay.”

 

They defeated the few skeleton soldiers marching around this strange formation of cave and ruin. Ziirka waved her hand and summoned At-Ius, and Veya readed her little Fighter’s Guild crossbow.

 

“Some of these skeletons have imperial armor. That’s strange, do you think they were magically transported here?”

 

What was neither a question nor an answer lay beyond; a praying vampire kneeling before a shrine to Molag Bal. Veya and Ziikra threw blade after blade towards him, and he finally fell in battle when a shard of ice impaled his stomach. 

 

“You have definitely mastered that move,” Veya grimace, wiping vampire blood off her backpack.

 

“Fighting is not necessarily something one should want to master.”

 

The Dunmer walked up to the shrine and picked up a strange orb. When she did, the floating projection of a familiar figure, Abnur Tharn appeared before them.

 

“What is the meaning of this? Why have you contacted me? This is Abnur Tharn. The Master and I are very busy. This had better be important. Wait a moment. I don’t know your face. Identify yourself, immediately!”

 

Veya blinked, “Who, me?”

 

“Yes, your report, you insipid twit. What, did you contact me by accident?”

 

From a hidden spot behind a rock, Ziikra put her finger over her mouth in a shushing motion and began to speak instead. Veya was truly glad for it, as she felt she was about to freeze. 

Charismatic deception wasn’t a skill that she considered honed, no matter the acts she’d committed in the Court of Bedlam.

 

“Forgive me, my Lord, but I heard something that might be of interest to you,” she called out persuasively.

 

“Well, out with it. I don’t have all day! Your disguise is terrible, by the way. You look like a character from a bad adventure novel.”

 

Veya adjusted her backpack and stared at him with narrowed eyes as Ziikra continued behind the rock.

 

“Someone has been asking the locals about a Redguard named Sai Sahan.”

 

“Are they? I didn’t think that Redguard has-been had a single friend left. Not in this world, at any rate,” the projection droned on. “Never fear. Sai Sahan is safely locked away. Even if they were to discover his location, attempting a rescue would be suicidal.”

 

“Do you know where he is?” 

 

Abnar Tharn crossed his arms, “Of course I do. But I’m not in the habit of revealing vital secrets to insipid lackeys. Now, be gone! And if you contact me again without good reason I shall contact your cell commander and have you properly thrashed for your ineptitude.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord.” 

 

The projection disappeared, leaving them alone in a cave full of bones and mysteries. Ziikra motioned for them to leave, running back up the corridor and towards the basement of the lighthouse. 

 

They almost made it to the ladder when spikes impaled Veya in the foot. A horrid pain shot through her and she let out an agonizing cry, glancing down. A trap had been laid down in the floor. The spikes quickly retracted, causing her even more excruciating agony. Like lightning, Ziikra pulled her away from the trap and towards the stairs, preventing her from being impaled a second time. Blood began flowing from her boot. 

 

“Ah! Vivec that fucking hurts!!”

 

“Gods, we need to get out of here. I’m going to carry you, okay?” Ziikra exclaimed. 

 

“I can… I can use my other foot… I… ah!!”

 

Somehow, attempting to focus through the pain, Veya felt Ziikra wrap around her waist with one arm and climb the ladder for the two of them with the other. Using her good foot, Veya pushed off of At-Ius’s shoulders to give them a boost before the bear magically desummoned. 

 

“Stay conscious, okay? I need you to do that.”

 

“I’ll try. I… I can’t feel my toes…”

 

The pain was so horrible that tears began welling in Veya’s eyes. Blood pooled where she was laying on the lighthouse floor as Ziikra lifted herself out of the basement trapdoor. The place didn’t look abandoned, but as they had likely killed the inhabitants via their cellar reconnaissance, Veya assumed this would cause no one living any trouble.

 

“I’m going to lift you into the bed. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”

 

“Okay,” Veya gasped, pain shooting through her foot.

 

She was lifted and placed in an Altmer style twin bed, and Ziikra gently pulled her boot off. Veya looked away, though the image of the wound would haunt her. She kept her eyes on her Redguard companion instead. 

 

“Okay, okay, are there any bandages or medicine or potions here? Why didn’t we think to buy something before doing this? I can… if I can stop the bleeding we can get you into town. I’ll think of an excuse or something. Maybe I can get Lyris or the Prophet… if we can just…”

 

Veya’s foot wasn’t even hurting that much. In fact she was feeling better and better by the second. She finally tore her eyes away from Ziikra to realize that the room was slowly becoming filled with strange magical trees and ferns. Flowers and vines crawled around the furniture and snaked their way onto the bed. And around her foot. Ziikra stopped her monologuing and glanced at the changing room, both women realizing that her hands were glowing the exact same color.

 

“You’re… you have healing magic?” Veya asked weakly.

 

“I didn’t know, I mean, I’d read about it but I didn’t know the plants I summoned were… what’s happening to your foot?” the Redguard asked, kneeling beside the bed.

 

Just as Veya reached for the vines wrapped around her legs, they melted away. Similar to the way At-Ius would dissipate when he was no longer needed, they glowed a blue and were suddenly gone. And, aside from a scar, Veya’s gray foot no longer had a hole in it. 

 

Their eyes met.

 

“You are something else, my friend. I am, without hesitation, very glad that we’re no longer enemies,” Veya smiled, her words more sincere than they had ever been in her life.

 

Ziikra, still looking a little dazed and in awe, helped her friend up and met the smile with one of her own. The former assassin still had a little bit of pain when she stepped, limping back to the Harborage, but nature itself had restored her vitality. A feat she had not known possible.

 

“Do you know how useful that would have been, like, a billion times before?”

 

“Oh shut up,” the Redguard laughed.

 

They closed the door to the Harborage, relieved that they were safe.

 

 

 

Not a single person in all of Auridon, not even the Eyes of the Queen, noticed the masked figure lurking in the trees nearby, hidden from view but at a perfect vantage point to spy on the strange cave that the pair of adventurers continued to enter and exit once every week or so. It mattered not what country they would next explore, there was this consistency of them returning to this cave, and he would use that to his advantage. Even though she had been successfully wounded by the trap he’d set up after following them in the cave, she still had the protection of her friend. 

 

The masked man let out a sigh. He would need to continue his little Vulkhel Guard mission a little longer, but the right time to strike would be soon. At least there was plenty of time to stock up on potions and weapons. He glanced at the itchy diplomat’s outfit laying near his makeshift bedding, already dreading putting it on to go into town.

 

When the crazed cultist was alone and without the help of that Redguard woman, he would strike. Until then, he had plenty of time to prepare.   

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for anything I misspelled, sometimes the names of things can be tricky. Thank you for continuing to read this, I really appreciate it! Don't forget to kudos and comment!


	6. Thtithik?

 

“I think I want to change my hair.”

 

“Hmm? Oh, ok. I’m sure there’s a stylist somewhere around here. It may be Valenwood but it’s Altmer Valenwood and we can―”

 

“Ziikra,” Veya interrupted. “Will you do it?”

 

“With what? A sword?”

 

The Dunmer took a deep breath, “I don’t want anyone to see the feathers.”

 

Her friend’s face changed from amused to serious within a second, not hesitating before rummaging around in their packs, then disappearing downstairs to talk to the innkeeper about borrowing a pair of scissors.  Veya took the time, while waiting for Ziikra, to pull out the bottle of hair dye potion she’d purchased from the local alchemist (who they had briefly talked with when looking for witnesses as a result of the Staff of Magnus disappearing). She ran her fingers through her hair, which had always been the length it was now for as long as she could remember (and she’d been around for at least three decades). And it had always been the stark white that set her apart from other Dark Elves her age, a trait her father had given her. She was trying to not have the mindset that she had in Summerset; that everything about her Balmora life needed to be erased. This was more of a gentle change. She didn’t want to be so easily identifiable in a crowd, and it would be easier to hide the feathers with darker hair.

 

“Okay,” Ziikra smiled, jogging up the stairs with several thuds in her leather outfit. “I have us the tools to shape you a new face!”

 

“It’s only a haircut.”

 

“No war paint? No tattoos?”

 

“We’re going to a party not a battle,” Veya sighed, though she couldn’t help the smile creeping onto her face. 

 

The Mages Guild of Marbruk was hosting some fancy event in honor of some island off the western coast of Tamriel having been relocated. Apparently it had been lost to them and someone had rediscovered it or some poppycock. How one could lose an island was beyond Veya. 

 

“Do you have anything nice to wear?” Ziikra mused, gently pulling Veya’s hair behind her shoulders and squaring the other woman in the mirror.

 

“Anything I wear will reveal the feathers. I… I don’t really want them to see that.”

 

“Hmm. We’ll think of something. How short?”

 

“Shoulder length.”

 

“I’m going to keep it long enough to put up. It needs to stay out of your eyes in a fight.”

 

Veya didn’t argue, instead taking a breath to steel herself. Ziikra’s hands, despite her claiming that she’d never cut someone’s hair before, were surprisingly steady. She trimmed here and there, careful to avoid the feathers as she cut, and brushed the hair into a pile as it fell. 

 

“Once upon a time…”

 

“Once upon a time?” Veya scoffed.

 

“Once upon a time,” Ziikra continued, in a firm voice, “There were two sisters. Sunkissed and free spirited. They  _ terrorized  _ their hometown from the moment they could walk and talk, and no other kids their age held the record for most shops kicked out of.”

 

Veya let an ungraceful snort escape her nose.

 

“... one of the sisters was so quiet when her mouth was shut. She could weave her way through the bazaar and come out the other side with bursting pockets and not a single witness. She regularly took naps on the roof of the palace and no one knew a thing. Her merchant parents didn’t approve but they knew a valuable resource when they saw it, and they allied with the Thieves Guild to give her a foot in the door. But they didn’t want to limit themselves. They couldn’t have neighbors asking where their kids had disappeared off to, so they made use of their other daughter. Younger and more naive, she was the fastest person in all of the peninsula. It would take her a day to run a letter to Bergama and back, where other couriers would take a week. She could sprint inside a lion’s den and out before the fat cats could let out a yawn. She even outran a bandit archer’s aim when she’d gone exploring inside No Shira Citadel… one of the local ruins.

 

“Her parents entered her in contests. She would compete with others her age at first, but she was too quick for them. So they had her race against the adults of the city. Then the guard and Fighter’s Guild; extremely athletic people who had been training for years and decades. She was a champion in racing within a one-hundred mile radius, and as a result was given private lessons by the Captain of the Guard to become a warrior. She didn’t realize that she was training to become his weaponized thief catcher.   

 

“Her sister hadn’t realized this turn of events, and had been apprenticing for one of the best pickpockets in the city. She tried taking a coin purse from a guard without realizing that it was the younger sister. Both were wearing armor that covered their faces, and as a result a chase across the city began. The armor of the guard slowed down the sprinter but the thief was caught in a trap across the rooftop and broke her foot. By the time the younger sister had caught up the older sister had her throwing knife ready, aiming it for a small gap in the armor and striking perfectly. She had only been meaning to defend herself and weaken her opponent, worried that the guard would bludgeon her before tossing her in the dungeon. But...”

 

“Did they realize they were fighting each other?”

 

Ziikra stiffened behind her before letting out a sad sigh, “Yes. The thief had heard that cry before, quickly realizing her mistake. And she’d aimed  _ too  _ well. She crawled over to try and help her, but both women collapsed from the pain of their wounds before they could exchange words.

 

“Their father found them, slowly climbing the rooftops and searching the city when his daughters did not come home that night. The thief survived the broken foot… it took her a week to heal with some restoration magic and some expensive potions. Her sister… her wonderful, young, inexperienced sister didn’t make it. Though stricken with grief, the parents did all they could to show that they were not mourning, instead pretending as though the younger sister had ran away. The city searched desperately for their beloved sprinting champion, putting out posters and a bounty for the anonymous thief, who eye witnesses claimed had stolen away the girl. Eventually, out of need for a consecration and buriel, the family provided the body, claiming they found it in an alley. The captain of the guard raided the Thieve’s Cistern, declaring a pardon to whoever could provide proof of the murder. I’m told every outlaw kept their mouth shut.”

 

A snip of the scissors, and another lock of hair fell to the floor. Veya hadn’t felt herself remain so still in a long time, compelled to listen.

 

“It seemed fitting for the older sister to learn how to run. She barely took the time to pack her bags before she was out the door in the dead of the night― neglecting to say her goodbyes lest her parents become suspects. She snuck down to the docks and took the boat that would whisk her away to the opposite side of Tamriel. And it was the first time she’d ever been alone.”

 

She didn’t register that she’d reached up and grasped Ziikra’s hand that had been resting on her shoulder, running her thumb along scared knuckles. 

 

White hair scattered the floor of the inn room. 

 

A torchbug had floated in through the window, lazily but silently enjoying the shade. 

 

The fire crackled a few feet away from them.

 

Veya turned and looked Ziikra in the eyes, noting the dark circles beneath them. She wondered when the last time the Redguard had gotten sleep was. 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

There was a beat before Ziikra responded, “I almost surrendered in the Crystal Tower. It would have meant the end of Tamriel but all I could think of was how I couldn’t do something like that again.”

 

“Even when I was some colossal shadow monster? Six limbs and distorted? And a murderer?”

 

“Even then, I knew you were still Veya, hidden and in pain somewhere in there. I think I managed because that giant projection of Nocturnal looming in the sky filled me with a blinding rage I’d never felt before. I wanted to kill her, not you. And… be it one or one dozen, we’ve both killed people we shouldn’t have.”

 

“Yours was an accident,” Veya weakly attempted.

 

“If it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else’s brother or sister. And… if I’d gotten away with it, I would be living underground with naught but greed in my eyes. I don’t hate thieves but I hate that  _ I _ was one.”

 

“What was her name?”

 

“Saiya.”

 

“How much younger?”

 

“Four years.”

 

Veya winced. That was a close age gap to her and Ulran (minding the ratio of mer years to men). Though they were still facing each other, and her eyes had a distant look to them, Ziikra continued her work. She uncapped the potion bottle, taking a moment to read the label’s instructions before gently pouring the contents on Veya’s hair.

 

She was expecting liquid. Instead, a cloud-like substance rolled down her scalp and her shoulders. Veya pulled out Valsirenn’s pocket mirror and marvelled at how quick the potion had worked; her hair now a beautiful jet black. And doing a better job of hiding the feathers, though the ones on her face were still visible. 

 

“Looking good,” Ziikra smiled. 

 

“Let’s hope this isn’t a scam and I don’t wait up with half my remaining hair missing tomorrow.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to try very short hair,” the Redguard mused, setting the scissors on the desk. “But I love the way it is now as well.”

 

Veya loved it too. 

 

She paused, though her companion didn’t notice. 

 

She did think there was a certain aesthetic about Ziikra that she’d always liked, but to love a part of her? What? Did… did she love Ziikra’s hair? Did she  _ love  _ Ziikra? Was it because she’d lost her family and a force that had manipulated her into considering it her mother had abandoned her… was that why she clung to Ziikra? Or did she seek a bond because Ziikra readily gave it? But then, there was something she felt for Ziikra long before the chaos in Summerset. Before she’d killed her father and earned herself a death sentence. Huh. Perhaps it was because Veya was slowly realizing how much they had in common. They only differed because where Veya had chosen a dark path after killing her father, Ziikra had chosen integrity. 

 

But now they shared a common goal, with equal-minded methods of completing it. So… even if their paths had differed in the past (no matter how recent), they were becoming similar people once more. 

 

That seemed like a reasonable foundation for kinship. Perhaps more than that, even.  

 

The Dunmer stood up and offered outstretched arms. Ziikra didn’t hesitate to give Veya a hug, and both women instantly sank into it. There was no uncertainty in the gesture’s strength and sincerity and Veya immediately closed her eyes. She felt safe. The torchbug flying around the room landed on the bed. The fire continued crackling. The hum and buzz of inn patrons a foot below rumbled through the floors and vibrated in Veya’s bare feet. She could remain like this forever. 

 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I want you to know that I consider you my family,” Ziikra whispered. “You’re who I have left and the history between us won’t stand in the way of that.”

 

She let out a shaky sigh and buried her face into the Redguard’s shoulder. 

  
  


  
  


Ziikra ran her fingers over the cloth. Ayrenn, or perhaps someone in the court of people that followed her around, must have mentioned praise to the local craftsmen. When she’d asked about obtaining an outfit for the Mages Guild party, she was gifted a free set of bosmeri clothing. It was actually a really wonderful looking outfit, made of fine leathers and intended for climbing the Graht oaks, and she smiled as she gazed into the dirty mirror in their inn room. 

 

“Wow.”

 

She glanced at Veya, who had donned a simple tunic and pants beneath a gray cloak.

 

“What are those?” the Dunmer pointed at her arms and legs. 

 

Little bits of blue light tattooed to her dark skin snaked their way around her body. It was only half of the usual body marking that Psijic monks attained, as she’d been forced to suddenly separate from training at Artaeum because of the Coldharbour debacle. It was the first time she’d been wearing an outfit that would reveal them, and the women had been changing in separate spaces (Ziikra knew Veya wanted privacy because of the daedric… alterations). Thus, her companion had not seen these before. 

 

There was also the concept of keeping the tattoos covered up for remaining stealthy, as they frequently needed to do. But, today, Ziikra wanted to wear something special. 

 

“Markings. Only a partial treatment. I don’t know if I will qualify for more.”

 

Veya raised an eyebrow, “Why not?”

 

“It’s the ‘Psijic Way’ to observe the world and intervene when only necessary. To qualify for finishing the tattoos, I would need to do the same.”

 

“And that’s just not your cup of sujamma.”

 

Ziikra let out a quiet chuckle, “I’ve never actually tried that. Haven’t tried a lot of drinks, really. Wine and beer is the biggest drink in Hammerfell, and wine was literally the only taste I could find in Summerset. And then again in Auridon.”

 

“And you never tried any of the local Vvardenfell swill?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“We’re having something new tonight, I’m sure the Mages Guild has imported drinks more interesting than that.”

 

Ziikra pulled a beautiful necklace from her pack, running her thumb over the largest wooden bead. She then looked in the mirror as she put it on. The painted spheres of bone and wood clacked against her skin, cold and slightly itchy. It was perfect. 

 

“You look… refreshed?” Veya offered.

 

She glanced at her companion and smiled. Having confessed her crime to Veya had lifted a great weight off her shoulders, even if she’d taken a few moments alone just outside the Marbruk gates to sit on a mossy stone and cry. She turned and offered her hand.

 

“Ready?”

 

Veya hesitated for a brief moment before taking it, walking down the steps of the inn with her and pushing past the door. 

 

They weaved through the hustle and bustle of an Altmer city planted in the middle of a forest. Traders ran amok in chaos. Hunters stood at the corners of streets offering fresh game (Ziikra had never tried antelope but there was a first time for everything). The clanging of metal resonated and spilled down the stone steps from the forge next to the Fighter’s Guild. She heard Veya take a shaky breath.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I just should have brought a mask.”

 

Ziikra squeezed her hand, “You have nothing to fear. I will keep you safe.”

 

Reluctant, the Dark Elf shrugged and let Ziikra guide her towards the Mages Guild. Huge banners rolled down the walls of the building, with robed scholars sitting outside and laughing as they discussed theories and academic jargon. A pair of Bosmeri guards stood sternly at the doors, though one opened the door for the women without hesitation. Ziikra didn’t intend to seem mean, but it was hard to be intimidated by an elf who’s helmet could just barely tickle her chin. 

The party inside was… something else.

 

Fireworks exploded here and there, nixads lazily floated around with bundles of flowers (throwing the petals wherever they wished), in the middle of the room a man and a woman looked to be caught in a contest of who could conjure the most beautiful statue with magic. There was booze everywhere, including servants consistently bringing in crates to keep the river flowing. All of the walls were lined with tables of food, and Ziikra’s mouth watered a tinge. 

 

Members of all races walked, danced, stumbled past them. Ziikra saw a group of young, startled Imperials partaking in a game of arm wrestling with a middle-aged Nord woman. That is to say, both parties had conjured hands made of arcane energy, alteration magic, to fight each other. To her left, a pair of Khajiit engaged in debate with an Orc over proper analysis of this month’s star movements. In the corner, a Forbear wizard shot her a look and gave her a nod of approval (which was a little silly, considering her family had roots in the Crowns), and continued then to watch his pet scamp sharpen his scimitar. 

 

“I’m going to get us drinks?” Veya suggested. 

 

“Alright, I’ll wait here. I promise.”

 

“Don’t do anything I would do.”

 

With that, her friend left. Ziikra leaned against a spot of wall that wasn’t taken and enjoyed the sight of the Mages Guild. She was sure that, after having spent years trying to combat the Worm Cult, a little bit of relaxation was quite nice for all these scholars. Indeed, there didn’t seem to be any foul play afoot. For once. 

 

“Thtithik?”

 

Ziikra glanced about a dozen or so feet away to the sound of a very young Argonian, just a hatchling, tugging at Veya’s cloak as the Dunmer was trying to get drinks. Veya glanced around in confusion, and then looked down.

 

“Um… hello there, what can I do for you?”

 

“Thtithik!” the Argonian child repeated. 

 

It was then Ziikra noticed that the little Saxhleel had feathers on the top of his head, and blue scales so faded that they were almost gray. He must have thought that Veya was of the same make as him, and Ziikra did everything she could not to giggle.

 

“Oh… ah… hmm. Ziikra? Help?”

 

“There you are, Heita-Jel! Your egg-siblings were supposed to watch over you!” a voice called out, before a force swiftly brushed past the Redguard.

 

The little Argonian’s father (best that Ziikra could assume), scooped up the rascal and carried him off; lecturing about wandering off in crowds and tales getting stepped on and such. A tiny scaled hand waved goodbye to Veya, who seemed a little shocked and confunded.   

 

“Well.” 

 

“Enlightening?” Ziikra bemusedly inquired.

 

“Perhaps I might be an Argonian, deep inside.”

 

“It’s possible. I don’t think you like mud baths, though.”

 

Veya rolled her eyes, “At least there’s one other person who doesn’t mind the feathers.”

 

“Well, if it cheers you up, I’ve heard that Wood Elves put those little antlers on their foreheads with adhesives. They aren’t real. Every other traveler out there is wearing some pretentious article of clothing or another… including so many garish masks. And I have starlight shining out of my skin. So maybe Tamriel is full of weird people, and you’re not special.”

 

She was rewarded with a pout and a serving of hagraven’s tonic. Veya hid her mouth behind her own glass but the Warden could tell she was smiling a little.

 

“Perhaps not.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Aranias

 

 

If Ziikra were to describe Greenshade in one word, it would be sunny. For someone who had grown up in Hammerfell, she considered herself and the sun to be good acquaintances. This, however was a different story. Where Hew’s Bane had been harsh and hot and unforgiving, this was pleasant. The specific greenish-yellow born from gentle rays passing through the tree leaves was… it felt storybook. 

 

Captain Sarandil continued on with his tour, and she broke away from her thoughts to listen.

 

“The Staff of Magnus is safe, in our vault below the city. We have guarded it day and night. When you are ready, I shall show you into the vault.”

 

Veya waved her hand for him to continue.

 

“If you would follow me.”

 

He continued on, talking about how Marbruk was a jewel of the dominion, calling Valenwood’s forests barbaric. Ziikra shrugged not to punch him in his face for his comments; his words reminded her of Veiled Heritance imbeciles. Not even Veya would act that rashly, she had to tell herself. 

 

Though they’d been to the Mage’s Guild the night before to attend the gala, this time on business she noticed that the wizards and sorcerers around them held grave, serious attitude as they worked. 

 

Inside the vault, plants and relics of great rarity awaited Ziikra’s prying eyes. Veya didn’t seem nearly as interested, pressuring the captain to continue further into the vault instead of dallying.

 

“We’re here to secure the staff, not going on a Dominion tour.”

 

They pushed into the final vault, each room guarded by stoic Altmer guards. Ziikra immediately knew something was off, the tips of her fingers beginning to form ice. 

 

Just as Veya reached out to touch the staff, a magical trap blew them across the room. She collided against Captain Sarandil, cushioning her impact a little. The guards, once recovered, drew their swords and glanced back at the altar the staff had supposedly been resting on.

 

The artifact was gone. 

 

Both women pressured the Captain with questions until he realized that Vicereeve Pelidil had been the only other person with access to the vault. 

 

“So he tricked you and left this illusion in place of one of the most powerful weapons of all time. Cool,” Veya sighed.

 

“Come on, let’s go talk to the queen. She should have arrived in Greenshade by now.”

 

The Captain reluctantly escorted him out, and though Ziikra knew that Queen Ayrenn was not one to execute over anything less than pure treason, she still worried about this man’s fate― or that of his career. 

 

“V-Vicereeve Pelidil departed into the wilderness. He said he had orders from the queen to bring Naemon’s body. He did not return.”

 

“Well fuck.”

 

“Veya,” the Redguard warned.

 

Veya let out a sigh, “What do you suspect the Vicereeve has done with the prince’s body then?”

 

“Well… the Staff of Magnus is a powerful object. There’s no telling what wickedness he could achieve.”

 

“Okay. Cool. He’s probably a cultist. A necromancer. And a racist. That’s cool―”

 

“We will handle it from here,” Ziikra said, cutting her off.

 

The Captain gave her a respectful bow, holding it for a little while. She had the feeling that he was desperately trying to please her in an attempt to salvage his career somewhat. They left him within the Mage’s Guild only to find Queen Ayrenn awaiting them outside. Just when Ziikra had steeled herself to announce the crime, Veya beat her to it.

 

“It was Pelidil.”

 

“‘It was Pelidil’ what, Miss Releth?” Ayrenn asked, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

 

“What my companion means to say,” Ziikra sighed, “Is that the Vicereeve stole the Staff of Magnus.”

 

“Then it’s true. He’s betrayed us. My brother’s body didn’t make it to Marbruk either. I knew he loved Naemon dearly, but I didn’t think he’d stoop to this.”

 

The two women left the Queen and her entourage to brood about the current situation and retreated to the outskirts of town. Along the way they had passed Razum-dar, who had asked them to look into one of the local clans and their reluctance to join the Dominion. Apparently they needed to persuade some forest spirit known as the “Wilderking” to join their side afore the rest of the Greenshade tribes would follow suit.

 

“It’s probably best if you take care of this,” Veya chuckled. “You’re two-thirds of the way to being a forest spirit yourself.”

 

Ziikra planted her hands on her hips and gave Veya a signature smirk, “And what will you be up to, trouble maker?”

 

“I’ll track down Pelidil. I’ll try going to the other city in Greenshade― Woodhearth. Should be a walk in the park but if I have to kill him I doubt any in the Dominion will miss him.”

 

“Sounds good. I’ll meet up with you when I’m done with this Wilderking.”

 

She didn’t know what possessed her to move forward and give Veya a hug. Needless to say, the Dark Elf was surprised for a long moment, then sinking into the hug awkwardly but with a genuine energy. She supposed that she was expecting her friend to smell like volcanos and ash and all the things that people associated Dunmer with. But Veya simply smelled like the leather armor she’d recently purchased, and a hint of something else. Something that Ziikra instantly took a liking to. 

 

They departed, and Ziikra made her way out of Marbruk towards Bramblebreach. All in all, it was a cute little village, currently celebrating a festival of sorts. The wood elves entertained people of all races with their unique music and dancing, but one Khajiit near the entrance ot the village seemed completely lacking of the festive cheer. That must be the one Raz had wanted her to talk to.

 

“Dark Moons! These crazy Bosmer make no sense!”

 

“Anything I can help you with?” Ziikra asked, placing a calming hand on his hefty steel pauldron.

 

“Hmm… Hazazi has only been here for a short while and already he hates this village. It’s not fair. Hazazi always gets the worst assignments.”

 

“I will speak with the Treethane, if it would ease your mind.”

 

The Khajiit soldier’s face suddenly went from antagonistic to pleased, grateful that someone would be willing to lend a hand. He shook her hand and stepped aside, that she might trek further into the village of Bramblebreach.

 

The round, Bosmeri style homes were often stack on top of each other, with intricate tree trunk branches forming bridges to connect each other. Ziikra figured the Treethane’s court might be found at the tallest of these houses, and began walking up a bridge when a High Elf collided with her.

 

“Sometimes, people are just impossible to understand,” the Altmer muttered, unaware of Ziikra’s presence.  

 

“Excuse me, were you coming out of the Treethane’s home?”

 

The woman seemed shocked, taken aback as she registered the Redguard speaking to her. Her amber hair seemed a little unkempt her clothes slightly ruffled, as though she’d been into the forest recently. Strange for an Altmer.

 

“Whoops! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. I almost ran into you. I guess I’m a little distracted. Anyhow, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

 

Ziikra waved a hand to signify that all was well.

 

“But, to answer your question, yes, I was visiting the Treethane. She seems a few leaves shy of an actual tree― she treated me like a child when I’d come here to speak to her in the spirit of scholarly study!”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know why?” she asked.

 

Something seemed off. Not malign, but simply off. Ziikra couldn’t help but feel drawn into whatever mystery this woman was clearly keeping from her.

 

“I have no idea. I’ve never done anything to offend her. I’ve never even met her!”

 

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I’m about to try my luck as well.”

 

The high elf woman, giving her name as Aranias, wished her genuine luck, and disappeared to the other side of the village. Ziikra couldn’t wipe her bemusement of her face as she made her way up the rest of the tree trunk bridge. She pushed her way into the thick leather curtain that served as a door to the Treethane’s chambers. 

 

She hadn’t really spent much time in a fully decorated Bosmeri home (save for the purchase in Grahtwood), and marveled the thick leather skins hanging from the walls, the bowls of fire that served as light source, and the impressive vine throne that housed the leader of Bramblebreach. All of it was completely different from the architecture and decor of Abah’s Landing, and she would have stayed in here all day inspecting every piece of pottery and deer pelt were it not for the pressing issues she’d been sent to resolve.

 

A respectful kneel.

 

“I’m here to negotiate on behalf of the Dominion.”

 

The Treethane crossed her arms sternly and leaned back into her vine throne, “Negotiate? About what? Oh. I know. You want us to bow to your queen and swear allegiance to your― what’s-it-called― ‘Aldmeri Dominion’.”

 

“Y-Yes,” Ziikra nodded, still kneeling.

 

“Huh. Problem is that our allegiance is to the Wilderking, and he doesn’t seem to care for your Dominion.”

 

“Can…  **_may_ ** I speak to the Wilderking?”

 

Treethane Niriel laughed, “You people don’t understand. The Wilderking manages the entire forest. He doesn’t have time for idle talk.”

 

“What can I do to petition him for an audience?”

 

At this, the leader stood and walked to the table nearest the throne, pouring herself a cup of rotmeth and taking a good long sip while studying Ziikra (who had finally stood herself). Ziikra noted the years of age on this woman’s face and wondered how many centuries she had led this village. 

 

“You ask us to share your enemies, but will you share ours?”

 

And that’s how Ziikra found herself in this cave, inches away from death as a wild Orc chieftan repeatedly tried to bash her skull in with a sword the size of a child. She’d never considered Orsimer to be ugly, no matter what other people around her whispered, but this warrior was truly hideous. Thragdosh raised his blade into the air again and tried to swing it down onto her as she dived into a pile of crates and barrels.

 

“So the Wood Elves have a friend who’s not afraid to fight? Good. Give me your best,” he taunted.

 

She readied a frostbolt and waited until he had swung again, vulnerable enough to not expect her spell. He staggered back with a growl, giving her the chance to point at him and shout, “Now!”

 

At-Ius appeared out of thin air and slammed into him, pinning him against the wall of the cave long enough for Ziikra to grab one of her twin short swords and end the conflict.

 

Bramblebreach guards met her at the edge of the cave, having cleared out the rest of the tribe with the help of the Lurchers she’d summoned earlier. 

 

“Hmph, I wasn’t exactly expecting you to succeed. Seems there’s more to you than meets the eye,” the Treethane muttered, when Ziikra finally returned to the village.

 

Ziikra let out a huff, exhausted from her fight with a warrior who outweighed her three times.

 

“We had an arrangement?”

 

“I keep my promises. You got rid of those parasitic Orcs― you’ve earned the right to petition the Wilderking for an audience.”

 

 

 

 

He was beautiful. Well, she couldn’t describe his face by any means, but there was an aura about him. The way the air shimmered and tasted different, her nose picking up strange flowers and roots and spices. He wore a ragged set of leather armor ill-befitting of a king and yet no crown could possibly outshine a mask like that.

 

Ziikra didn’t even hesitate to kneel. Where the respect for the Treethane came from a sense of diplomacy, this was pure instinct. The raw power of the forest floated above her, a kind tone to the Wilderking’s words as he greeted her.

 

“Welcome to my Court, outsider. Since you entered my domain, I have watched your actions with a keen interest. You have been generous with my people and more patient than I expected. But I still cannot gather one thing… why have you come?”

 

Ziikra wanted to tell him the purpose the Dominion had in store. That peace treaties needed to be made, signed, and practiced. But… she felt a halt in her mouth. There was another, hidden reason, and she couldn’t understand it.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“It’s quite alright. If nothing else, I’ve a good insight into your intentions. You seek an alliance. The people in my domain are reluctant to this, as we possess no quarrel with your enemies. There is something else. Something you personally seek. What is it?”

 

Ziikra glanced down to the dirt beneath her feet, some feeling of shame filling her for being so bumbling and meek in front of this king. She was never this way around Ayrenn, from where did this inarticulate personality emerge?

 

“You do not know. Hmm… show me one of these enemies of whom you seek to destroy, that I might better understand.”

 

“Yes, sir. Of course… how?”

 

“Use the other stone pillar. The one on the platform behind us. Touch that stone pillar and an apparition will appear. One of your enemies, as you say. Fight this enemy so that I might see its true nature. I will, of course, lend you my strength.”

 

“You would?” Ziikra asked, finally glancing up from the ground.

 

“As I said, I sense something peculiar about you. I would see your prowess for myself.”

 

She felt a strange surge of energy, a blessing from nature itself, surround and empower her. Ziikra drew her sword without meaning to, her legs carrying her to the stone pillar behind the altar before she could even thank the Wilderking. 

 

Her confusion increased tenfold when a ghost, Norion from Tanzelwil, appeared out of nowhere and slung spell after spell towards her face. Ziikra ducked behind rocks and weaved around trees with tactics for which she could only credit her instincts. She placed her hand on a trunk and, without even asking the flora for its help, a vine lashed out and sliced the ghost in half. It’s essence dispersed and floated through the air as though Spiddal Stick were releasing its gas.

 

Upon returning to the king’s altar, she found Hazazi the Khajiit, angry and threatening the forest spirit with a battleaxe. She raised her hand to try and calm him down, but his ears still remained flat like an angry housecat’s.

 

“With all those floating leaves, Hazazi thinks this ‘king’ loose very silly. Is this just a waste of time?”

 

“Calm down, I’ll handle this my friend.”

 

“Even Razum-dar would have lost his patience by now!”

 

Ziikra laughed, a chuckle bubbling through her throat at the cat’s impatience, “I don’t doubt that.”

 

Nevertheless, the soldier sheathed his weapon. Ziikra turned to the Wilderking, and though the spirit was wearing a wooden mask that completely covered his face, she could sense his amusement at the sight. 

 

“So, these dark enemies you would have me fight? Do they have a name?” 

 

“Er… yes. They are called the Veiled Heritance. Racists. Zealots. They destroyed half of an Altmer city in their conquest.”

 

“Altmer, you say? Interesting. Those like him… they may not all share his darkness. There is one among this group who has come to Valenwood to see me, and I find her curious… very curious. I am not inclined to consider her an enemy. Blessed by gifts I cannot afford to ignore.”

 

Somehow, Ziikra felt as though she knew who it was the king spoke of. 

 

Spirits surrounded her without warning, glowing a bright purple and scaring the fur off of the Dominion officer behind her. Various figures wearing Veiled Heritance armor surrounded the altar of the petitioning stone, including the familiar face of Estre. Despite having defeated her with Veya, Ziikra couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fear. 

 

Sure enough, kneeling before them was Aranias. Though there was something strange about the way she pledged her loyalty, as though she too was scared of these zealots. Ziikra studied her face, ignoring the Wilderking’s curious tilt of the head as she studied the girl’s face. The way she stammered through her attempt to prove herself. The way Aranias could not make eye contact with her superiors. The vision ended as the plot to end the monarch of the forest rolled off of spirit-Andur’s lips with such a casual tone that Ziikra came this close to thrusting her blade into the apparition. 

 

“Until I know more about this young girl… I hesitate to call her my enemy,” the Wilderking calmly said.

 

“She’s trying to destroy you. Her companion will not halt, even if you manage to sway her in a different direction.”

 

“There may be a greater truth to her purpose here. You may not like this, but I sense the same is true of you.”

 

Of course it is, Ziikra thought.

 

She almost cut him off halfway through his speech about destiny and intertwining branches, the coming events of the future and such. Veya must have really been rubbing off on her. Nevertheless, the Wilderking pointed a lone finger towards the house of Spinner Maruin, promising her that he could use his forest magic to slow Aranias and Andur from reaching his throne while she completed her next task.

  
  
  
  
  


She trudged up and down beautiful grassy hills, sneaking past senche and beetles alike until she spotted the run down, Altmer style home. A refreshing, needed drizzle of rain began dropping down bit by bit and she lifted her face towards the gray sky.

 

“Um… whoever is up there that watches over me… Tu’whacca? Or… or the Green? Y’ffre? Whoever it was that gave me these powers. I can sense that they’re strongest here, in this land. I just want to send a prayer. Don’t make me kill Aranias, if the fates would be kind.”

 

She took a deep breath.

 

“I don’t think I can handle having to keep killing people who are truly misguided. But I know that the way the world works… well… every force in Tamriel seems to have a strange sense of humor.”

 

“Indeed!” a chipper voice called.

 

Ziikra nearly jumped eight feet into the air. She turned to see a Bosmer male slowly making his way down the front steps of the decrepit house and gently sprinkling some sort of mulch on the nearby flowers. His chest was covered in intricate tattoos, hidden under cracked and peeling leather robes.

 

“H-Hello?”

 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it! I’ve already begun Aranias’ story! I have been waiting for you for some time. The story needs you to play a part in the present… and in the past.”

 

Ziikra struggled to understand his meaning as he gently led her over to the smoldering fireplace. The rain drizzled here and there as she looked up― realizing that the roof of this house had caved in some time ago. Why was a Spinner camping out here when Bramblebreach was only a few miles away? 

 

Without warning, the fire erupted into full strength, it’s warmth cutting through the raindrops. 

 

“Have a seat by the fire,” Spinner Maruin calmly murmured, “and let me know when you’re ready to hear the story. Imagine the flames of a vast ocean. Cold waves on a clear blue ocean off the coast of Summerset. Now picture an island. Trees around the island shimmer in the sunlight; each gently cresting ocean wave sparkles. Many stones, roots, and flowers on the island were shaped by magicka. Only two living Altmer possess such power.”

 

She struggled to focus through the flames, now turning blue. Why did that power sound familiar? 

 

The world around her blurred, her eyes desperately focusing on the flames. When she finally tore away, realizing that Mariun was not speaking anymore, she was standing in a perfectly clean and fully furnished home. Aldmeri in style. 

 

Ziikra’s breath hitched in shock and her eyes whipped back towards the flame, realizing that the blue magic had been replaced by a normal fire.

 

Had he transported her somewhere else? She had not gone through any portal, and yet this was a different place entirely. Ziikra stretched her fingers towards the flames and felt a real, intriguing warmth bounce onto her skin. 

 

“Impossible…” she whispered.

 

A voice cut through the silent home, “This is the island of Silitar.”

 

For the second time that day, Spinner Mariun had startled her. She looked around, but he was nowhere to be found. Of course, she must literally be inside a story, both real and not real. Ziikra had never really done much research into the magic of the Spinners, but this truly was incredible. 

 

Pushing through fine wooden doors, the Redguard almost ran into a young mer impatiently waiting outside of the house. To her left, an elegant mansion towered over the property, but in every other direction, all she could see was a beautiful sprawling forest not unlike the mystical land of Auridon.

 

“Hey! I’m so glad you could come!” Aranias said with an unabashed grin. 

 

Ziikra was instantly engulfed in a hug, and she couldn’t help but hug back, despite her tremendous confusion. 

 

“My parents will be back tonight, and I was afraid I’d have to face them alone again!.”

 

She glanced into bright, hopeful silver eyes and stammered, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

 

“That’s why I asked you to come early. I’m not sure what will happen either. Before they get back, I want to be carefree. We can visit some of our favorite places together.”

 

“I… um… do you remember me?” 

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Aranias asked with a giggle. “We practically grew up together. You’re the only one I can trust these days!”

 

“You don’t remember meeting me in Bramblebreach?”

 

“Bramblebreach? You know my parents have never let me leave Silatar after they saw what I can do. I’ve missed so much… What happened at Bramblebreach?”

 

Ziikra realized that this story was truly manipulating reality, and a pang of fear struck her heart. She needed to choose her words more carefully, stammering out a “nevermind” and asking about her parents. The comment about not being allowed to leave struck her, though. Aranias had been isolated from Summerset and Auridon? What could she have possibly done to warrant such a prison sentence?

 

The young Altmer answered that question with a sigh, “They were afraid, like everyone else. After I raised up the land under the sea and smashed that ship… even though nobody got hurt they said my magic was too dangerous. You’re the only one who isn’t afraid of me.”

 

Aranias could manipulate the forest and the land? That meant she… she was another…

 

“You’re… not afraid, right?”

 

Ziikra’s face broke into a smile, suddenly realizing why she’d been chosen to partake in the Spinner’s magic, “Of course not!”

 

Another hug, close and squeezing, “You don’t know what that means to me.”

 

The other woman challenged Ziikra to a race and, for a brief moment, she felt like a teenager again. Abruptly, Aranias took off down the marble steps and into the grass and Ziikra laughed as she tried to catch up. She felt like she was with Saiya again in the streets of Abah’s Landing. That was, until she felt roots spring up around her ankle and trip her into the soft green hill.

 

“Watch your step!” Aranias called out as she jumped over a stream.”

 

Two could play at that game. Elated that someone else had the same powers as her, Ziikra reached her hand out and willed the vines beneath Aranias’s scampering feet to suddenly grow and bloom, tangling the high elf in her place.

 

“Don’t trip!” Ziikra called back, surging foward and sprinting the last leg of the way.

 

In the end, it was a tie, and before Ziikra could say anything, Aranias had grabbed the Redguard’s hands, intertwining their fingers.

 

“I don’t believe it. Do you… do you have the same powers as me?”

 

Ziikra couldn’t help but blurt it out, regardless of the consequences. Her excitement was too much to contain, “Aranias, don’t you see? You’re a Warden!” 

“A what?”

 

“You were blessed with powers to control the forest. You can command animals and use plants to heal people. And there are also ice spells you can learn, too! This is amazing, I’ve never met another Warden before!”

 

The other woman looked overwhelmed at Ziikra’s words, happy and excited and frightened all at once. Still catching her breath from the race, she shrugged.

 

“I’ve always had a special connection to the land. Sometimes things happen, and I don’t even think about it. It just happens.”

 

Ziikra nodded, “I know. I felt the same way when I first realizing it. I grew up in Hew’s Bane, where there’s not a single plant in sight― and when I traveled to Vvardenfell I was suddenly surrounded by trees and grass and I found I could control the forests around me.”

 

Aranias cocked her head, “When were you in Vvardenfell?”

 

Right. This was the past. She shrugged and shook her head, “A while ago. It will make sense someday, when I can have a better conversation with you.”

 

“You’re talking in riddles.”

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. Really, I don’t,” Ziikra said, giving the other woman’s hands a squeeze.

 

“Wait. Something’s wrong. Can you feel that? The land’s in pain, burning hot.”

 

Yes. Yes she could feel it. Perhaps it was because she was with Aranias and paying attention to the forest around her that she could feel the very earth itself in agony. They both looked to the farm and began rushing towards it. Aranias wasn’t sure what to do, readying roots that traveled with her as she ran, but Ziikra had instantly snapped into her usual battle routine.

 

“At-Ius, come to me!”

 

Somehow, even through the strange magic of the Spinner’s story, he could be summoned. Aranias’s eyes went wide and she jumped back in fear.

 

“It’s okay. He’s a friend. This is one of the powers you have. It’s okay, Aranias.”

 

The bear lumbered forth, helping to attack the bandits as they worked to defend the farm. Ziikra used her frost spells to snuff out what flames she could, and before she could turn to deal with the enemy rushing towards her, she found him bound against the wall by writhing vines.

After the farm had been cleared, the bodies of the bandits lying in smoldering dirt, Aranias threw a rock at a fallen foe and let out a frustrated yell.

 

“No one attacks my island!” Aranias hissed, her silver eyes burning with anger. 

 

“Where did these bandits come from?”

 

“Does it matter? I’m tired of this. Everyone wants to hurt me or use me, and it stops now!”

 

The floor of the ruined barn rumbled slightly as vines and flowers sprang through the cracks in the stone. Aranias turned towards Ziikra and pointed a finger at her chest.

 

“Where were you when my parents “tested” me? Where were you when I needed you most? You left me! Why are you even here? Do you want something from me too?”

 

“No! I only want to help you!” Ziikra defended, reaching up and grabbing the other Warden’s hand. 

 

Tears began spilling from Aranias’ eyes and her anger left her body as she lowered her head in shame, “I’m… I’m sorry. After my parents left, I felt so alone. I couldn’t find you. People kept coming. They’d attack, hound me, want me to show them what I can do. Like I was a circus animal, or some kind of pet! I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

 

Without realizing it, Ziikra moved closer. She placed a hand, gingerly, on the other woman’s shoulder and forced eye contact between the two women. 

 

“I didn’t realize how upset you were.”

 

It was sincere, despite the fact that this was all some sort of dream concocted by Spinner Mariun. Aranias felt real, her pain felt real. The way it shook Ziikra’s heart felt the most real of all of it. 

 

“No, it’s not your fault. Thanks to you, these bastards didn’t get very far. They could have destroyed everything.”

 

Aranias smiled and gave Ziikra a long, warm hug. The Redguard couldn’t help but notice the way the flowers around them bloomed into bright, beautiful colors. She… she didn’t know which of them was causing it, and for the first time since discovering her powers, she didn’t feel so alone. 

 

“Come, I must speak with you once more,” Maruin’s voice cut through the world.

 

She pulled away from Aranias, who smiled and ran up to the manner to meet with her parents, fading away as the fabric of the dream’s reality began to shimmer and fade. Maruin’s translucent form appeared just outside of the barn and she approached him.

 

“In her tale, Aranias was volatile and she swung between anger, shame, and hope. Feared by her own parents because of her abilities, she faced the bandits alone. This made her bitter and hardened against others. Vulnerable to outside influences.” 

 

Ziikra had to remind herself that he was, of course, speaking about the actual Aranias. The sophisticated scholar she had met outside of Bramblebreach. The zealot terrorist planning to assassinate a king. How could that woman be the same mer as this wonderful girl who was discovering her powers? Ziikra… Ziikra understood it somewhat. She had been a horrible person before losing her sister, and could have easily walked down a different path. Someone else stuck in the back of her mind but she couldn’t figure it out. All she could think of was Aranias. 

 

All she could think about was how she’d found another Warden. 

 

Spinner Maruin showed her other scenes from Aranias’s life. Her mother yelling at her for creating an island… something that Ziikra found truly beautiful and impressive. Nevertheless, it was clear that Aranias’s face was pained at the abuse her parents gave her. Then, Maruin showed her another memory, not allowing Ziikra to change the story as he had before. She had to sit back and watch in silence, as though she were complacent in this abuse. 

 

Aranias pleading for her parent’s forgiveness up in the lighthouse after sinking a ship. Crying and voice breaking. 

 

“Your mother and I will discuss your punishment. Go!”

 

Ziikra reached out to comfort her friend, tears welling in the Redguard’s eyes, just as the three Altmer vanished into thin air.

 

Then, in the large manor she’d spotted upon first entering the dream. Her parents, unemotional, telling her that they were leaving, despite her protests. Ziikra’s core shook at the desperation of Aranias’s pleading as her father proposed she have “special training” when they returned from Summerset.

 

_ This is what I missed,  _ Ziikra frowned.  _ This is what I wasn’t there for.  _

 

She couldn’t even remind herself that this was all a dream. That this was the magic of a wizard manipulating the reality within someone’s head. 

  
  
  
  
  


 

A garden party full of racists. Because that’s what Ziikra needed today. This was another one of Spinner Mariun’s visions, though perhaps the last. She approached Aranias and blinked in confusion. The other woman looked older, her hair changed and her clothes more refined. Her posture that of someone who had matured. 

 

But a wonderful smile was set in Aranias’s face upon seeing the Redguard, and Ziikra was startled to be caught up in a warm, gently kiss to the cheek.

 

“You look beautiful. How are you?”

 

“F-Fine. How’s the party?”

 

“There are so many people,” Aranias rolled her eyes, rubbing her hands, “High Kinlady Estre is here, apparently. I bet my mother wants me to show off my powers.”

 

“You sound hesitant. Are you okay?”

 

“Hesitant? I hate this! And they’ve got something particular they want to see.”

 

Ziikra frowned, “Aranias… I think they want you to abuse your Warden abilities.”

 

“The way they’re talking, it sounds more dangerous, and I’m a bit worried, to be honest.”

 

She offered to go find out, turning away and letting Aranias’s hand slowly slip out of her own. This touch felt different, as though she made the High Elf feel safe. Then again, they were in the middle of a party, surrounded by people that Ziikra would eventually kill. This was all so strange. 

 

Ziikra wondered how long ago this party was. How far into their plans they were. 

 

Her anger erupted at seeing Vicereeve Pelidil among the ranks of these fanatics. He truly was a traitor, one of these bastards as well as the thief of Naemon’s body and the Staff of Magnus. Though she had no proof, were she to testify. 

 

He boasted something about Andur out in the fields with a Bosmer, and she skulked away from the conversation, not making eye contact. 

 

Others didn’t seem impressed by Aranias’s power, calling her a witch and such. Ziikra had to do everything not to punch these people square in the face. 

 

_ You’ve already defeated them. Remember that these people are no more. Don’t ruin how Aranias perceives this event.  _

 

She made her way to Andur, out in the fields. He was standing over a dying Wood Elf, and after seeing through her disguise, attacked her. He used fire and steel against her but wasn’t a match. He fell back into the grass and she ignored his body to give her attention to Salalin the Bosmer. 

 

“They… they took my wife.”

 

“I can heal you, hold still,” Ziikra murmured, readying the spell in her fingers. 

 

“No. They will give her to the witch. The rock witch….”

 

She watched the light leave his eyes as he let out a final groan and died. She murmured a prayer in Yokudan and rushed back towards the garden party. Were they going to force Aranias to murder a wood elf woman?!?

 

Sure enough, Estre was commanding her to trap the elf with vines, coaxing the frightened Warden with words of anger and revenge. 

 

“Wait! Stop!” Ziikra pleaded, pushing through the crowd. 

 

Aranias’s silver eyes were drained of color, already having given up. Though she let Ziikra take her hands, there was nothing but a flat, defeated voice to explain.

 

“This is my test. If I can take the life of this girl, it means that I’m willing to make the necessary sacrifices.”

 

“No. No! This is murder, Aranias. This goes against what Wardens stand for!”

 

“What about the Bosmer who attacked my island? What were they? Dominion ambassadors? A peace mission?”

 

“Don’t let the Veiled Heritance trick you into thinking this. They were bandits. This woman did nothing to you. People are all different and you can’t just group innocents with the guilty because they share a few traits. Do you believe me to be some Covenant spy because of the color of my skin?”

 

Aranias’s mouth dropped open as she struggled to find the words. She glanced at the crowd of Heritance spies and politicians and back into Ziikra’s eyes. 

 

“If I refuse to kill this Bosmer, then what? I’ll be alone again. The “Rock Witch of Silatar,” a monster for fairy tales.”

 

“You’re not alone,” Ziikra whispered, moving closer, “I’m here.”

 

She could see the thoughts churning in Aranias’s head. The other Warden dropped her shoulders and turned away. For a moment, Ziikra thought she was about to strike her and confine her to the same vine trap that she had the poor Bosmer woman. 

 

“I won’t do it!” Aranias shouted, thrusting her arms up and letting vines sprawl out of the ground. All throughout the garden party, the members of the Veiled Heritance were suddenly trapped.

 

As soon as she was freed, the Bosmer woman scrambled into the woods of Silatar, disappearing among the trees. 

 

Aranias tugged Ziikra away from the walls of the manor and out of earshot of the angry yelling of High Elf zealots. She could feel the Spinner’s magic begin to fade, and knew she only had a few moments left. 

 

“That was amazing! You… you just took on dozens of people!”

 

A trembling smile greeted her and Aranias looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Instead, Ziikra felt fingers weave through her hair and pull her head closer. Their lips met in a kiss and she all but melted as the world around her shimmered and rippled. Her eyes closed, still kissing this woman as the memory faded away.

  
  
  


 

 

“What just happened? Where did she go?” Ziikra gasped, sitting upright in the grass of Greenshade.

 

Spinner Maruin’s very real form stood over her in amusement. 

 

“As one story ends, another reaches its climax. Our little bit of mischief was a success: because of you, Aranias may very well betray her masters to defend the Wilderking.”

 

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t fucking real. Ziikra stood up and asked him where to go, the little Bosmer man grinning as he pointed towards a spiraling mountain made of vine and Altmer architecture. It was possible she wouldn’t be able to save the Wilderking’s life, but she had to save Aranias. 

 

She made it to Greenheart, the forest around her on fire and swarming with angry forces. At its entrance, a weakened version of the Wilderking appeared before her. 

 

He warned her of Aranias and Andur making their way towards the throne, still on their original conquest to assassinate him. As his power had begun to fade, the Wilderking had lost control of his guardians and subjects. When he revealed that his death was inevitable, Ziikra began to understand. Someone would need to replace him.

 

“Aranias was guided here for this purpose. I think she knows the truth, but she’s conflicted.”

 

_ That makes two of us _ , Ziikra sadly thought.

 

She promised the Wilderking that she would catch up Andur and Aranias. She would help her friend see the truth and accept her responsibility. The forest spirit faded away, leaving her to confront the mess that the Veiled Heritance had stirred up. 

 

Ziikra didn’t hesitate to kill the strange stone warriors and imps and spriggans as she made her way through the tunnels. Her blades moved in sync with her desperation and her Warden powers didn’t fail her a single time. It was as though everything worked together to allow her to reach Aranias. 

 

She could hear Aranias and Andur fighting somewhere on the mountain above her. 

 

Ziikra willed her legs to run faster as she caught up to her friend, almost colliding into her as she had that first time Spinner Maruin had dropped her into the “story”. It seemed strange to see her in person, and sure enough this time she looked more solid and frantic, her emotions on her sleeve as she desperately gripped Ziikra’s arms. 

 

“It’s you? From Silatar? My… my friend. Thank the Eight! You were right about the Veiled Hertance. I’m sure now!”

 

“You still don’t remember Bramblebreach?” Ziikra smiled, checking Aranias over for injury.

 

“What? Oh, the village where one can petition the Wilderking? Were you there?”

 

Ziikra shook her head with a smile and glanced up at the burning mountain, “We need to stop Andur before he kills the―”

 

“I know. Somehow, it seems like that's what I meant to do all along. When Andur burned the forest I actually felt its pain. I think I’m… connected to this place. I can’t fight Andur though― he’s too strong. Will you help me?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Ziikra gave Aranias a sad smile, though Aranias wouldn’t understand why. She would fight Andur, but more importantly, Ziikra needed to protect the other Warden.

 

“We can travel through the roots to catch up. Have you ever done it before?”

 

“No. I hope I’m a quick learner.”

 

It was strange, to be suddenly sucked into the ground. Ziikra panicked for a moment, worried that she couldn’t breathe, but Aranias tugged on her hand and guided the both of them as the very earth seemed to shift to their will. 

 

They finally popped out of the ground, seemingly miles above Greenshade.

 

Though she could have sworn she killed Andur in the Spinner’s Story, he was alive and well. Perhaps it was because the story belonged to Aranias. Perhaps it was because it was simply a story. It didn’t matter. Ziikra walked up the steps of the Wilderking’s Palace and drew her sword, summoning At-Ius with an effortless gesture. 

 

“Amazing,” Aranias murmured to herself. Ziikra wasn’t sure if she was talking about the bear or the palace, but she found her fingers briefly intertwining with golden ones.

 

A quick squeeze to her hand, and suddenly they were fighting Andur. She fought him as Aranias rushed past, holding onto the Wilderking and safely transporting him through the roots. She blocked a swing of the zealots battleaxe with a hefty shard of ice and let a vine wrap around his ankle as At-Ius crashed into him, teeth snapping and paws swiping.

 

When she caught the opportunity, she drove her blade straight into his heart. 

 

For a second time, Andur’s blood dripped off her blade as she sheathed her weapon and ran towards the tower at the tallest point on the mountain. She barreled inside, pushing the fine wooden door away and rushing in.

 

The Wilderking calmly sat at the throne in the middle of the room, as though he weren’t dying. 

 

“Aranias was guided here to take my place, but I believe you were guided here to assure her ascension. If you had not come, I fear Andur would have killed us both, leaving the Valenwood wild and vengeful. Many lives would have been lost.”

 

“She’s to become the Wilderqueen?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Where is she now?” Ziikra calmly asked.

 

Her breath, despite the ascension of the mountain and the fight only a minute ago, slowed. Time seemed to slow, too. 

 

“She is up above. You should go to her. She is frightened of the transformation process, but you must comfort her.”

 

Though she saw no eyes beneath the beautiful wooden mask, she knew that he understood their relationship. How it had only formed within a few days, and yet how Ziikra would have died for this woman. She didn’t even understand it herself, but a blessing from a forest spirit afirmed how she felt.

 

“Thank you for your help.”

 

“I should be thanking you. I have longed for rest for many centuries, and despite the turmoil, you’ve brought it upon me. Go now, and know that you bring me a peaceful death.”

 

She gave him a respectful bow and climbed up the ladder made of vines to the next part of the tower. The sky was turning to sunset, having cleared from the rain earlier that day. As she approached the balcony, she could even begin to see stars. Aranias, leaning against the railing and looking at the sprawling forest she was about to inherit, did not make eye contact with the Redguard.

 

“I’m scared. Shouldn’t I be feeling confident? I mean, we defeated Andur.”

 

“It’s okay to be scared. Gods know it’s okay, Aranias.”

 

“Look at all of this though! I’ve worked my magic on small pieces of land in the Summerset Isles… but this is an entire forest… a living forest. Tell me I can do this.”

 

“You can do this,” Ziikra smiled, finally managing to make eye contact with her friend.

 

“I think he was a man too, once, the Wilderking. I mean, he was like us. But when he took this on, he became something else. I think he merged with the Valenwood and forgot his prvious self entirely.”

 

Ziikra didn’t say anything. She was too afraid to say anything.

 

“My memories… some of them are fond. The ones with you. They seem only partially real, but they’re the memories I’ll miss most. I… well… it sounds silly…”

 

“What is it?”

 

Aranias turned and took Ziikra’s hands in her own, “Would you stay? Rule with me? We’re both Wardens, I’m sure the forest would allow it. We’re both worthy.”

 

“I don’t think you understand what we really mean to each other. How this all actually happened. I…”

 

“But I have such a fondness for you. You were there for me, growing up. You helped me stand up to my parents and we conquered enemies together.”

 

_ It wasn’t real, _ Ziikra wanted to say.  _ The version of me you think I am is a figment of your imagination. _

 

Suddenly, everything she and Spinner Maruin had done together felt dark. Wrong, even. Though they’d saved a forest and its people, they’d sacrificed a girl in the process. 

 

“If you can say my name, I’ll stay with you,” Ziikra said.

 

She could feel the tears welling in her eyes as Aranias’s face went from confusion to panic to sorrow as she realized that she didn’t know who Ziikra was. Perhaps this was what she needed to begin to understand the truth.

 

“I don’t know it. We grew up together, or at least I thought we did, and yet I cannot place a name to your face. I… that doesn’t make any sense…”

 

Ziikra plucked a flower off the balcony and placed it in Aranias’ hair.

 

“This is your responsibility. I have many of my own. I have conflicts and people I cannot abandon. I’m sorry.”

 

Aranias let out a soft sigh through her nose and nodded, wiping a tear away, “I have to let go. The way I embrace you in my heart, that’s how I must embrace the Valenwood. I need your help. You must climb the tower further and place the Wilderking’s crown in the gardens there. Then, you must wait for me. Promise you’ll wait.”

 

“I promise.”

 

She climbed up the next ladder and found herself in a beautiful room full of flowers and ferns and vines. In the middle of it all was a patch of dirt where she did as she’d been told.

 

A bright light filled the room and Ziikra found herself face to face with the masked figure she’d petitioned back in Bramblebreach, although this spirit took the form of a woman instead of a man. She brushed past Ziikra to the balcony, her hands elegantly resting behind her back as she overlooked her new kingdom. 

 

“Um… Aranias? Are you okay?”

 

The Wilderqueen looked at her, and she could feel the confusion through the wooden mask.

 

“Everything is so… very different. Aranias is slipping away. You are my friend, though, whoever I become. Will you stay for just a moment?”

 

Ziikra smiled and stepped closer, within the forests spirit’s personal space and gently pressed her lips to the wooden mask, as a sort of goodbye. She felt a hand clutch her side for a moment before releasing.

 

“I’m right here,” the Redguard said softly.

 

“I’m determined not to forget the lessons I’ve learned, nor to forget you,” the Wilderqueen said, when they broke apart. I know why you originally came here… to ask for the Wilderking’s allegiance to the Aldmeri Dominion… to know the Valenwood was on your side. I freely give our allegiance. I only hope Ayrenn realizes that her best ally stands before me now. Goodbye, my friend.”

 

The spirit opened a portal to leave the mountain, her back already turned to Ziikra. She slowly stepped through it, knowing that there was nothing left to be said.

 

_ Perhaps there is some merit to a Warden being able to wield the powers of the cold, _ she thought, when she found herself at the green rolling hills in the darkening night.  _ There is nothing warm about the true wilderness.   _

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man oh man it's been months. So sorry that I haven't updated this in a while. I finally sat down and finished the first part of the Greenshade chapter. I had it all planned out and had recorded myself playing through Greenshade back in November and then the footage was deleted. So I had to do it again on a different character (cause Elder Scrolls Online is the game without a save button). But I'm glad I focused on this questline for one whole chapter because in my opinion it's one of the best in the whole game. 
> 
> I really wanted to write that kiss scene at the end with Aranias, too. She definitely one of the best characters in the game. 
> 
> Next chapter is Veya screen-time, so don't you worry.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, the ending of Summerset made me cry so, so much. I was a little upset that a choice I'd made to help someone ended up hurting me, and I wanted to write a fic that fixed what had happened without being too unreasonable. There's a bit of logic going down that I'm sure has plenty of holes to poke through, but I would just ask that we suspend our disbelief so that I can write a story where Veya "kill first ask questions later" Releth gets a happy ending. Also I know some characters may seem a little ooc, but I am trying. I really am excited to see where this story goes and would love your comments.
> 
> Also, for context, this takes place from the perspective of a Vestige who started their adventure in Seyda Neen.


End file.
